


Apologies, Or: Maybe I'll Just Move to Idaho

by ABeautifulSleeper



Series: Talking is Hard (Until It's Not) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anxiety, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Reconciliation, a very ugly car, and a somewhat disgruntled physical therapist, lots of small children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeautifulSleeper/pseuds/ABeautifulSleeper
Summary: When your life comes crashing down around you, you have options for how to deal with it. You can either handle it maturely, or you can avoid your problems until the only solution is to relocate to Idaho because you've created even more problems than you had to begin with. This is the story of how Viktor Nikiforov, former principal dancer of the Mariinsky Ballet deals with that situation.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the Victuuri Big Bang 2017. I've actually been working on it since before the bang was announced, in jumps and starts, and this is easily the longest thing I've ever written. Thanks to my amazing artist @sleepyfortress on tumblr (seriously go check out all their stuff it's amazing) for creating the beautiful piece that accompanies this work, which I haven't yet figured out how to link, but hopefully will soon.

Another sunrise, another day with no real understanding of his purpose. This day is perhaps no different from any of the 103 days before it (when one has as little to do from day to day as Viktor does, one can afford to keep meticulous track of how many days it’s been since the last time he had a reason to get out of bed before noon), outside of little details like how it’s a few degrees warmer outside today than it was yesterday or how since he’s run out of bread he’ll have to have something other than avocado toast for breakfast when he finally summons the will to move from where he lies naked and cocooned in the duvet on his bed. Viktor has actually been awake for the better part of an hour but has not, in fact, moved beyond the stretch it took to grab his phone off the bedside table so he could pull up the weather forecast for Detroit (which is how he knows it’s warmer outside than it was yesterday). He’d responded to the usual concerned texts from Christophe and Mila in the same way that he usually did: always with redirection, that worked extremely well since they were both on a different continent and led far more interesting lives than he himself did currently. Normally Makkachin would have already woken him up demanding a walk but since he’d been up so late the night previously (ah, insomnia) Makkachin’s schedule was also thrown off, permitting Viktor extra wallowing time before taking on the mammoth task of peeling himself out of bed and into the shower. His left knee aches, but that’s nothing particularly new to him anymore, especially with the weather being as miserable as it had been since winter started.

With a heavy sigh and a self-directed eye-roll for his melancholy state Viktor unwraps himself from the duvet and puts both feet on the floor, chilled hardwood causing him to jerk his feet back from the ground and causing him to hiss at the way that motion jarred his knee, stiff and achy as it was. He fumbles around trying to find his house slippers from where Makkachin’s excited playing the night before had scattered them further under the bed than they would be usually, slipping them on and wrapping himself in the bright pink snuggie that had been an ironic gift for his birthday three months ago but that he had unironically come to love. Even with central heating, his apartment was still drafty and cold in the winter months. Fortunately, his shuffling around still hadn’t woken his dog, so he would be able to have a shower to warm up and maybe wash off some of the depression funk he’d been allowing himself to wallow in for the last few days (it’s hard enough to maintain the illusion of everything is perfectly fine and normal, yes, I’m recovering quite nicely thank you for asking when he has friends around, so what if he lets himself go a bit when he knows he won’t be seeing anyone aside from the cashiers at his local Whole Foods).

Shower complete and dressed in some of the cleaner clothes he could find piled in the chair in the corner of his room, Viktor walks out into the main area of his apartment, finally rousing the attention of his poodle who immediately heads toward the door, leash in mouth. Viktor pauses only to stuff his feet into the pair of ratty tennis shoes he keeps by the door expressly for dog walking before he clips the leash onto Makkachin’s collar and they head downstairs in the elevator and out into the frigid Detroit early afternoon.

As the pair make their way down the street of their just-barely-urban neighborhood, Makkachin stopping periodically to sniff at where other dogs have marked their territory and to mark his own territory, Viktor barely pays any attention to where they’re going, his mind still on the argument he’d had with his former agent about a week prior.

“Vitya, I know how hard these last few months have been for you. It’s no small thing, what you’re going through, but in all seriousness you can’t keep sitting around on your ass all day doing nothing but wishing for your old life, your old career. For better or for worse, that chapter is over now and you need to find a new direction. The money you made in the past will only last for so long, and aside from that a man like you will undoubtedly lose his mind slowly but surely if he doesn’t find a creative outlet. We may have always had our disagreements, but for all that I know at least that much about you,” Yakov had said to him.

“You have no idea how hard this is for me, Yakov. You’ve never lost the thing that made you who you are, I’m willing to bet, and through no fault of your own at that. You’re so certain you know what I need, but how can you? You’ve never lived this. Now, unless you can find some way of giving me back the one thing I know I need, I’d prefer not to talk about it at all,” he’d bit out from behind a fierce frown he may as well have borrowed from his former protégé.

And that had been the end of that discussion. Yakov had left not too long after that, as the conversation had all but dried up what with Viktor’s lack of willing to talk about the only thing they’d had in common aside from their common heritage and his anger at being confronted about his refusing to deal with his own emotional issues. That was the last person he’d really spoken to in several days, aside from the cashier at Whole Foods and the little old lady who lived across the hall who was apologizing for her rather rambunctious grandkids ding-dong-ditching him two days ago. By and large, Viktor hadn’t done a very good job of keeping in contact with his friends the last few months, letting the excuse of physical therapy (on his part) and their busy, usually international schedules get between them. If he didn’t even want to be around himself lately, why should he subject others to his own uncharacteristic bad mood? It was easier to pretend he was getting on with his life this way, anyways. If that happened to be a lie, well, there was no one around to call him out on it this way, so he (and his well-meaning friends) could continue to pretend otherwise.

Viktor lets himself be led around the neighborhood by Makkachin’s whims for another 20 or so minutes (sometimes he liked to pretend to keep up with his physical therapy regimen) before shaking himself out of his thoughts and turning their direction towards home. As he closes the door, he is hit with the smell of fresh food signaling the presence of some unknown entity in his apartment, and Makkachin lets out an excited yelp before yanking his leash out of Viktor’s hand to run into the kitchen and investigate. Rubbing his palm from where the leash just gave him mild rope burn and cursing quietly in Russian under his breath, he slowly follows.

“Ah, mon ami, you’re finally back! And you look like death recently reheated, is that how the saying goes? No? Oh well, you get the point. You look like shit. But never fear, I am here to turn that frown of yours upside down!” Viktor rolls his eyes and allows himself to be enveloped in a not-particularly-g-rated embrace by his oldest friend, one overly exuberant Christophe Giacometti. Who was supposed to be in Paris right now, and was for reasons as yet unknown currently slightly speckled with pancake batter standing in Viktor’s kitchen.

“How did you get in here? Did you steal the spare key or something? Why are you just inviting yourself into my kitchen and making a mess? And aren’t you supposed to be in Paris right now, dancing your heart out for a few thousand of your blushing admirers or something?” he asks, gently removing Chris’s hands from his ass and taking a step back. Chris just laughs at him.

“Yes, but after talking to Mila, Yakov, and pretty much everyone else who used to know you who’s talked to you in the last three months I decided you were in dire need of my company and my understudy could handle things for a few days. My admirers as you call them will survive the rest of the week without me, I’m sure,” he says in a way that while trying to sound joking really belies the concern in his voice. Viktor shakes his head at that, but Chris continues. “Look, Viktor, I know you’ve been saying you’re doing just fine, and at first it was easy enough to pretend you were being honest with me. But after a while even someone who can be as self-centered as I know I’m guilty of being can see that everything isn’t fine. You’re stagnating, Vitya, and I’m here to try to get you out of this funk of yours. You’re too wonderful of a human being and friend to me to let you continue to just lay around the house moping all day.” Chris grabs him by the shoulders and looks him in the eye in a gesture so dramatic he probably stole it from the stage, or failing that some soap opera he’d been watching in his spare time. “I know you miss the stage, and the stage misses you. Hell, even though we’ve spent most of the last decade fighting for the same parts or attention from the press after I left the company, I still count you among my closest friends. And so, you are going to eat the delicious pancakes I have so painstakingly made you, and then we are going to go out and buy you a stunning outfit to wear tonight because I’ve got us tickets to a show at the Detroit Opera House and we’re going out for dinner first to celebrate that I’m here with you and I’m going to be crashing on your couch for the next five days so get excited!” he says all in one breath.

Taking a moment to process that word vomit, Viktor just blinks at him for a moment. He only has two options, really: accept that this is how the next five days of his life will be and try to have a good time, or have a bad attitude about how easily his friends can see through him sometimes and end up actually going to physical therapy to avoid Chris’s schemes. Given how terribly he’s been doing with his physical therapy lately, and how much he loathes the man at the reception there for silently judging him on the rare occasions when he does bother to go, he decides he may as well just accept Chris’s well-meaning meddling. Besides, it’s not as if saying no is going to do anything to actually stop his friends and their determination to get him out of his house. Who knows, the path of least resistance might turn out to be more fun than sadly re-watching his own old performances from the safety of his own couch. Perhaps since Christophe was feeling so helpful as to cook, he might also be willing to help tidy things up a little.

“All right, fine. But we’re going to have to go slowly, my knee…” he trails off, looking away from Chris’s intense eye contact. Christophe backs away first this time, turning back to the counter where he had been plating the pancakes to serve.

“That’s fine, Vitya. How is the saying…it does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop. I think I got that one right this time, eh? Now come on, these pancakes will still be good cold, but I think you’d rather enjoy them hot. We have much to do today!” And with that, Viktor resigns himself to whatever the hell Christophe (probably with Mila’s help) has cooked up to cure him of his months-long bad mood.


	2. Chapter Two

“Hmm…I think you have lost too much color to wear that particular shade. The shirt is a good fit, though, so you stay here and I’ll go find it in a different, more complimentary color,” Christophe says, raking Viktor over with a scrutinizing glance before slipping out of the dressing room. Viktor slides slowly down onto the bench in the tiny space with a long-suffering sigh; they’ve already been out shopping for three long hours at this point. His only saving grace is the knowledge that they only have about another hour before they have to wrap things up if they’re going to fit in time for dinner before the performance later in the evening. Normally Viktor would love to spend hours on end shopping with his best friend, but he hasn’t exactly been his normal self lately and he’s feeling pretty drained after being dragged through about 5 different stores. A light tapping on the door lets him know that Chris has returned with the promised shirt in a pale, icy blue. Chris seems delighted with the effect, and even though Viktor himself is tired to the point of ambivalence he will admit that it looks nice enough with his complexion. It’s a definite improvement over the wrinkled t-shirt he’d come in with, at any rate.

“Christophe, would it put you out too terribly if we head back now? I’m sure you’ll want plenty of time to get yourself ready before we head out for dinner, and if we go now we’ll have enough time to not need to rush anything. I’m sure we must have bought enough clothes for today, don’t you think?” Viktor asks, trying not to sound like he’s begging or whining and not entirely sure he’s succeeding.

“That’s perfectly fine with me. Heaven only knows you shouldn’t attempt to rush beauty,” Chris murmurs absentmindedly as he shuffles the bags from their many purchases onto one arm so that he can still use his phone to take selfies, presumably for Instagram but also to send to Mila to show that he managed to coerce Viktor out of his depression nest in the apartment. They end up taking a taxi back to the apartment, as they’d wandered much further away from Viktor’s neighborhood over the course of the afternoon than they’d originally anticipated while on their quest for the best possible attire for the evening’s activities, bought way too much stuff, and Viktor didn’t really want to test the limits of his luck or pain tolerance by walking all that way back home. Christophe holds a lively conversation with their taxi driver most of the way back, about Viktor knows not what because he tuned it out as noise about three minutes in. When they arrive at his building again he lets Chris pay while he starts fumbling for his keys and grabbing their bags from where they took up most of the space beside him in the backseat of the cab.

Opening the door to the apartment he is nearly bowled over by Makkachin nosing excitedly at him and he barely manages to keep himself upright for all the bags he carries have barely left him any way of grabbing on to anything, but ultimately he stays standing. Christophe sweeps in after him, heading almost immediately towards the bathroom to begin his own extensive beauty rituals which once rivalled Viktor’s own but now easily surpass him. Viktor dumps most of the bags on the floor by his bedroom door and returns to the kitchen to top up Makkachin’s bowl of dry food before flinging himself carelessly down on the couch, sighing in relief as he takes his weight off his left leg. Makkachin jumps up onto the couch on top of him and they wriggle around for a few moments before finding a position they can both be comfortable with. He almost wishes he’d turned on the radio or something before he sat down, and the remote to the television is too far out of reach, so he supposes he’ll just have to put up with the quiet, interrupted only by Makka’s soft whuffling breathing and the distant, muffled sounds of Christophe’s singing in his bathroom.

He’s not sure how much time passes as he lays on the couch, weighted down by dog, but eventually he becomes aware of Christophe’s presence in the room once again, staring him down from the doorway. Chris is, naturally, impeccably dressed and just on the right side of provocative. Compared to how Viktor himself looks right now (wrinkled t-shirt, gray sweatpants, the whole ensemble lightly dusted with dog hair), he may as well have walked straight out of a high-fashion magazine.

“Do I have something on my face? Why are you looking at me so…intensely?” Viktor asks, swiping at his face. Chris shakes his head and crosses the room, extending a hand to help Viktor pull himself up from the couch once Makkachin hops down onto the floor.

“No, I was just thinking. I’ve tried to keep in touch with you lately, tried to make sure you knew we care about you and all, but I can’t help but feel like I could have done a better job of supporting you. I think I’ve been a little too focused on my career. I mean, even without taking into consideration how I could have been a better friend to you these last few months, do you have any idea when the last time I got laid was? I won’t say precisely how long it’s been, but just know it’s been entirely too long for someone as young and ridiculously handsome as I am. Maybe once this tour ends I’ll take a few weeks off, we can rent a flat in Ibiza or somewhere else lovely and warm and party it up, find us both hot Spanish boyfriends or girlfriends, you know I don’t judge, make a few mistakes and a lot more memories. How does that sound to you?” he asks, excitement building with every word.

“You and I both know you’re probably not going to do that, Christophe. You’re not the type to just walk away from something you love, especially with the knowledge that you’re getting older-” Chris made a face at him at that, and Viktor chuckles before continuing “-we all do, I’m sure you’ve noticed that my hair isn’t perhaps as full as it once was. That isn’t the point, the point is that you should take full advantage of your abilities before your body starts to betray you, and won’t let you move like you can now. Besides, I couldn’t possibly ask you to give up that much of your time just to keep me from driving myself stir-crazy. I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Chris snorted at him, pushing him by his shoulders into the bedroom. “It wouldn’t just be for your benefit. Not everything’s about you, after all. A lot of things, yes, but not everything. If I do end up doing it, you have to promise me you’ll come with me. I need someone to make sure I don’t accidentally get married during a night of wild drinking and passionate dancing. Now, let’s get you dressed for tonight. I feel like it’s been too long since you last went out for a night of culture, and before you ask, no, going to the craft store to buy more throw pillows does not count, regardless of how interesting the print on them may be.”

Christophe spends most of the next hour fussing over Viktor’s appearance, attempting to give a little volume to his nearly lifeless hair and even going as far as to pull out his makeup bag to smudge a little eyeliner under Viktor’s eyes and a bit of blush on his cheeks (“Not enough to make you look like you have a fever, I just want you to look like maybe you’re familiar with the concept of sunshine and going outside for longer than it takes to walk the dog.”) He leaves Viktor to his own devices to actually put his clothes on and volunteers to take Makkachin for a walk, since they’ll be coming back pretty late in all likelihood and it would be cruel to make poor Makka wait that long to go out. He’s just finished putting on his shoes when the other two return from their brief outing, and he and Chris head out post-haste, once again taking a taxi to get to their destination. Christophe had done his research and found a trendy (but not too trendy) hibachi grill about 10 minutes walking from the opera house. Dinner is delicious, and while the conversation between the two of them is a little stilted still at first from their time apart and the tiptoeing around sensitive subjects, by the time the bill comes it’s almost as if they’re back to being roommates on tour again, teasing each other with ease and seemingly limitless topics at hand (aside from, of course, Viktor’s injury and both of their semi-voluntary-semi-involuntary celibacies).

“Remind me again, what is it exactly that we’re going to see? Some contemporary retelling of Snow White or something, but genderbent and on pointe? Christophe, where do you find these things? I live here and I knew nothing about any of this,” Viktor inquires as he hunches his shoulders up a bit to protect his neck from the cold, his scarf forgotten at the apartment. It sounds like it could be good, but he’s not sure how he feels about going to see a ballet as a retired dancer himself. Wound meet salt, as it were.

“You make it sound much less exciting than I thought possible. Are you suggesting I know nothing about selecting entertainment? Vitya, you wound me horribly,” Christophe exclaims, flinging an arm across his face, peering out of the crook of his arm with one eye. “In all seriousness though, I think you’ll like it. You _do_ have a bit of a kink for doing things to surprise other people, after all. This show is definitely surprising people, particularly the more rigidly traditionalist critics.” He throws his arm around Viktor’s shoulder, laughing his usual exuberant laugh when Viktor sags a bit in acknowledgement of the point, and they walk together into the theater.


	3. Chapter Three

For all that it had been short notice, Christophe had apparently managed to snag decent seats. Not balcony seats or anything like that, no, but still well-enough situated. To Viktor this means one of three things: Christophe is very lucky, this show isn’t very good, or Christophe seduced someone in the box office. It’s more than entirely likely that it’s some combination of all three, but that’s neither here nor there for the moment, the lights are going down and after a brief introduction the show is starting. The performance is decidedly among the more avant-garde spectacles Viktor has seen since relocating to the US semi-permanently, and he’s not entirely sure yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. His somewhat dismissive summary from earlier isn’t wrong, exactly, it is after all a genderbent retelling of Snow White performed mostly on pointe, but there are also some elements of what might be some sort of…line dancing? The Cha Cha Slide, it might be? Viktor’s not really that sure, the dance crazes of America are a little foreign to him but Doc just yelled “Everybody clap your hands!” and there seems to be intentional space for audience participation here. Christophe is clapping enthusiastically, Viktor somewhat less so until he gets a feel for the rhythm of the clapping. At least he’s not the only one who’s slightly lost here.

All in all the first act is enjoyable, albeit very strange. The performers demonstrated not only their capabilities on pointe but also in various pop culture phenomena such as the Gangnam Style dance and the Time Warp, as well as others that probably have names but that are well outside the sphere of things Viktor has ranked as important lately. He and Christophe had walked out into the lobby to seek out refreshments and stretch their legs a bit before intermission ends, but he’s lost Chris in the crowd. He’s fine really just sitting and people-watching, seeing exactly what kind of people (other than Christophe and himself) would find the idea of a ballet-pop culture mashup of genderbent Snow White to be appealing. There’s a heavy presence of college-aged artsy types, but also a surprising number of middle-aged couples. He wonders to himself exactly how many of them are there just so they can brag to their friends about how *cultured* they are, how *open-minded* they are, etc. He knows why he’s here: the good intentions and questionable execution of those intentions on Chris’s part. He’s about to start looking for him when from off to his left he hears:

“I know you like the pop culture elements of the performance, Phichit, and don’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with being…innovative, but please tell me you’ve also paid as much attention to the actual ballet going on as well? That stuff takes a lot more effort and discipline, in case you haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been doing with my life for as long as I’ve known you and actually longer…” Viktor turns, curious to see who else is more interested in the more classical elements as opposed to how funny or “thought-provoking” (if he hears that one more time in reference to the insertion of the Wobble in a classical performance he might pull his own hair out, and that would be bad for his vanity’s sake) they think the mash-up of dance styles is.

The voice belongs to a slightly-taller-than-average, leanly muscular Japanese man, whose age Viktor can’t quite pinpoint because while he seems like he could be about Viktor’s age his cheeks are still rounded with the baby fat of youth. He’s wearing glasses with a blue frame, his hair dark and almost fashionably unruly. While he’s not as dressed up as Viktor knows he and Chris are, this man is certainly more dressed up than the college crowd at the performance, in a gray button-down and some dark slacks paired with boots. Overall, he’s precisely the sort of man Viktor would have already been flirting with if he were feeling like himself. His companion (presumably named Phichit) is similarly dressed, but in less muted tones. They both have a couple of empty champagne flutes resting on the window ledge behind them, and nearly empty ones in hand. Viktor can’t help but find the pair of them entertaining to watch, with Phichit gesticulating enthusiastically as he rehashes his favorite moment so far in the performance (the Evil King got down and did the Worm at one point in the show) while the other man just shakes his head in half-amusement, half-frustration as his friend apparently doesn’t show enough appreciation for the actual ballet. Before he realizes it, he’s practically walked over and insinuated himself into their discussion, and Phichit turns to acknowledge him before he’s even come up with an excuse for jumping in that doesn’t sound creepy or pretentious.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation as it’s pretty much the most interesting thing happening in my earshot right now. I guess I walked over here before I realized what I was doing, I’ll go,” he murmurs, mildly embarrassed and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, no, please. We’re a little divided on what’s the best part of the performance and I was just going to ask for backup from whoever was nearby anyways. You see, I find the more fun dances inserted in the performance to be positively delightful, and my fuddy-duddy friend Yuuri here,” Phichit gestures at the other man, and now Viktor knows his name, and Yuuri is looking at him so closely that he almost doesn’t hear Phichit when he continues speaking, “Yuuri is by far more interested in the same old boring ballet stuff he spends all his spare time with. So please, random man who may or may not have been eavesdropping on our conversation, tell us what _you_ think of the show so far.”

Viktor, a little unnerved by the combination of Phichit’s lack of reserve when talking to someone he literally just met and Yuuri’s intense gaze, hesitates. “Well, coming from a traditional background myself, I’ll admit I find the execution of the classical elements of the dance more interesting. After all, dancing on pointe requires so much discipline, both physical and mental, and beside that the popular dance crazes that are targeted more towards an everyday person pale in comparison. Not that they’re not interesting, of course, but…” he finishes with a shrug. Phichit moans, grabbing Viktor by the arm and pulling him over to stand in his place next to Yuuri.

“I can’t even with you two. Here, Yuuri, make a new friend with this guy who’s probably the only other person here who would rather talk about plies and pirouettes than how _cool_ it is that they’re up there doing the Running Man Challenge in the Detroit Opera House. I’m going to go use the restroom before the show starts up again,” Phichit says, walking away dramatically.

Yuuri, flushed pink in embarrassment over his friend’s rather pushy behavior towards a literal stranger, takes a step back from Viktor. “Ah, sorry for him. He’s not always so…forceful. You don’t have to stay here, I’m sure you came here with someone, you can go find them if you’d prefer,” he says all at once after a few seconds of awkward silence and internal struggle. Viktor laughs a little, finding that blush to be perfectly endearing.

“No, no, it’s no worry, I was just wondering to myself if there was anyone here aside from myself who cared about the more traditional side of things. I’m Viktor, by the way, I would have said earlier but your friend didn’t give me enough time for proper introductions. You’re Yuuri, did I hear correctly?” he asks, relaxing a little now that he’s recovered from being caught listening in on someone else’s conversation.

“Yeah, you heard him just fine. That was Phichit, we’ve been friends since we roomed together our first year of university. We were both international students at Indiana University, deeply unfamiliar with the United States but both in love with our separate dance disciplines. I’ve always preferred traditional ballet, while Phichit loves anything and everything contemporary or experimental. We’re opposites in a lot of ways, but even for all that he’s still my best friend, pretty much,” Yuuri responds, a fond smile on his face.

“Indiana University’s an awful long ways to come for an international student. But they do have one of the best dance programs outside of New York, or so I’ve heard. I’m no native myself, of course, but I’ve come to know more than I ever thought I’d need to about ballet in the US since I came here a few months ago,” Viktor muses. “I also came with my best friend, but he disappeared a while ago on the quest for refreshments. I suppose if nothing else I’ll see him again when we return to our seats. This was his idea to get me out of my apartment, I haven’t been doing such a good job adjusting to living here in Detroit by myself and he thinks I’m wasting away.” He’s not necessarily wrong about that, but Viktor would prefer not to admit that to his charming new acquaintance. No need in frightening off his new friend before they’re even properly acquainted. That would probably defeat the purpose of going outside, and he doesn’t want to screw things up when this is probably the most interesting conversation he’s had since the cashier at Whole Foods asked him if he’d be interested in buying a gram of pot with his weekly vegetable pick-up two weeks ago.

“It’s definitely hard to adjust to new places, I think, especially when your first language isn’t the language they speak in your new home,” Yuuri chuckles, then pales, looking stricken. “Oh, I hope I wasn’t assuming too much there, it’s just I can hear a little bit of an accent when you speak, and I know for me coming from Japan and Phichit from Thailand it was a rough adjustment period but if I’m wrong then that’s embarrassing and I’m so sorry--” “No, no, you’re right, I’m not a native English speaker, and I did say I’m no native so you’re perfectly fine. I’m originally from Russia, but I have traveled pretty extensively so I’m not really sure what’s causing me to have such a hard time settling down here. I think I’ve just had too many different kinds of change going on at once, or something like that. Changing homes, changing jobs, pretty much the only thing that’s remained the same is my dog,” Viktor says, trying to calm Yuuri back down.

“I’ve been living in Detroit for a little more than a year now and I’m still not used to it, to be honest,” Yuuri says. “You seem somewhat familiar though, do you think I would have seen you around or something? Possibly in this neighborhood, Phichit and I share an apartment not too far from here. He works with a local contemporary dance company a lot, so it made sense to be close to the theater, and I found a job teaching ballet at a studio just a few blocks away, so we’re in this area pretty much all the time.” Viktor shakes his head firmly, positive he’s never seen either of them before. It’s entirely possible that Yuuri is familiar with him through his former career, but if that’s the case then Viktor really, really doesn’t want to talk about it, especially not right now when things are going so well. He’s not being his usual flirty self, no, but he’s at least carrying out a conversation that has more substance than a rice cake, and that’s saying something. Maybe even if he’s not going to seduce this man into his bed (if he’s honest his bed is too much of a mess to fit anyone but himself and Makka), he can try that whole “making friends” thing Chris, Mila, and Yakov had suggested to him when he first got out of the hospital. Maybe that’ll make Detroit feel a little less gray and sad to him. Anything’s possible, he thinks, even with a bum knee.

“No, I don’t come out this far all too often. I nearly live in the suburbs, and I’ve been sticking pretty close to my apartment so far. I haven’t really met anyone who’s kept my attention for longer than a few hours since I moved, so I’m ashamed to say I’ve found little motivation to go out exploring very much. I don’t know how else we could have met, unless you also frequent Whole Foods,” he says with a wink and a small grin, making Yuuri flush anew and look at some point on the floor in front of him. Viktor’s trying to think of something else to say that won’t allude to what he does (did) for a living when he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to find Christophe holding two glasses of red wine (one mostly empty), waggling his eyebrows suggestively and looking between Viktor and Yuuri. Viktor shakes his head once, trying to head off Chris’s questions and possible sexual innuendo before he can start and frighten off Viktor’s tentative new friend as he takes the fuller of the wine glasses and drinks most of it in one gulp.

“Yuuri, this is my friend Christophe, he’s the one I was telling you about earlier who thought this was a good way to lure me out of my apartment. Chris, this is Yuuri, he’s also got some formal training in ballet and we’ve been talking a bit about the performance but also about the struggles of living in a strange place. Please do try to behave yourself, I don’t want to frighten him when we’ve only just met,” he jokes as he introduces the two of them. Yuuri looks at Christophe with the same look of concentration with which he was looking at Viktor when he first walked up earlier, as if he’s trying to place how he knows him but the answer remains just out of reach.

“Enchanté,” Chris says, bowing slightly and earning a whack on the shoulder from Viktor. “Ow, what, I’m just being friendly!” he pouts, rubbing at the offended shoulder. “I assure you I don’t know why Viktor feels the need to tell _me_ to behave. One does not get to be the principal dancer of the Paris Opera Ballet without knowing how to behave in a public setting, after all,” he says, and Viktor rolls his eyes a little at the humble brag, but Yuuri’s jaw drops.

“You-you’re _Christophe Giacometti_?” he asks breathlessly, flushing for the third time that Viktor has counted. “B-b-b-but what are you doing _here_? Aren’t you meant to be in Paris this week?” He cringes at himself, feeling caught out fanboying over the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be weird, I’m really interested in classical ballet and I’ve been wanting to see a performance by the Paris Opera Ballet for years and this is like meeting one of my idols I guess I’m sorry I’m being so strange I’ll just go now--” Viktor stops him, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Please, it’s no worry, Chris is nothing if not used to this kind of thing. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long before someone recognized him. Usually in a crowd like this there’s at least one person who’s more than familiar with who he is and they would have dragged him over for a photo opportunity or at the very least an autograph by this point. It’s rare that we can go out and not have anyone stop us for something,” Viktor laments. “You’re not putting either of us off by admitting you’re a fan of his. If you wanted a picture or an autograph I’m sure it’ll only serve to stroke his ego a bit. Please don’t feel ashamed for admitting you like something.”

“Yes, I’m perfectly happy to meet any of my fans. Although, I think any autographs or photos will have to wait until after the performance is over, as the intermission is nearly finished and we need to return to our seats. But, like Viktor said, never feel bad for being enthusiastic or even a little starstruck. I know I felt that way when I first met Vi--” Viktor claps a hand over his mouth, not wanting to give himself away just yet. If Yuuri recognizes Chris, he probably also knows who Viktor is, as he suspected, and Viktor doesn’t want to embarrass him.

“Let’s go back to our seats and agree to look for each other here in this same spot after the show. I’d like, even if you’re too nervous to get Chris’s autograph, to talk with you more after the performance. Assuming, of course, you’re not already put off by our behavior,” Viktor murmurs, leaning in closer and neatly invading Yuuri’s personal space (a concept that has always been foreign to Viktor. It’s honestly a miracle he manages to hold himself back from reaching out to neaten Yuuri’s hair while he’s at it). Yuuri lets out a shaky breath and nods, and the three of them head back into the theater.


	4. Chapter Four

“Amazing! How did I not notice that we’re sitting practically beside each other?” Viktor exclaims upon returning to his seat and seeing that Yuuri and Phichit are, in fact, sat beside him and Christophe. Phichit looks up from where he had already returned to his seat and was tapping away animatedly on his phone, surprise evident on his face. Surprise morphs into a smirk and then an amused eye-roll as he looks between Viktor and Yuuri, standing up.

“We may as well switch seats, Yuuri, because from the looks of things your new ‘friend’ is far from done talking to you, and I don’t want to deal with you two leaning over me to talk through the whole second half of the show,” he grins, pushing Yuuri into the seat he just vacated and taking the seat on his far side. Yuuri attempts to stammer out a response, but Phichit isn’t listening to him anymore. He’s already settling into his new seat, introducing himself to the middle-aged woman to his right. Yuuri continues to try to tell him that this is unnecessary for a few moments before turning back to Viktor and shrugging.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s something of a force of nature when he gets an idea in his head, but please don’t let his insistence put you off from enjoying the rest of the show,” he mumbles as the blush that had only just begun its retreat from earlier returns in full effect. “I’m not necessarily the type of person to talk through a performance, either, just so you know. I don’t know what he’s trying to say.”

Viktor laughs at that bashfulness. “I’m not usually one to talk through a performance either, but I think this one is somewhat more demanding of immediate comment. But don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything to me if you’d rather not. I’m just relieved that you won’t be able to pull a Cinderella on me and disappear at the end of the night, leaving behind nothing but a champagne glass for me to try to find you with later.” He sits down in what had originally been Chris’s seat, the two of them having wordlessly decided that Viktor probably needed/wanted to be closer to Yuuri. While they probably had very different rationales behind that, Viktor is just grateful that Chris didn’t decide to make a scene to add to Yuuri’s embarrassment. They obviously don’t know each other very well yet, having just met in the last thirty minutes, but Viktor could already tell that it wouldn’t take much to push Yuuri past the edge of tolerable embarrassment into feeling a need to physically distance himself from the situation, and he was only sort of kidding about the whole Cinderella thing. It’s startling to him how much more interested he is in conversation with Yuuri, this reserved Japanese man who he didn’t know before this evening, than he has been in just about anything else (healthy) in recent memory. Certainly he’s been able to fixate on other things, but most of those things have been his own self-destructive impulses and nothing to be proud of.

The rest of the performance goes by much faster than the first half had, in part because Viktor was only partially paying attention to the show after the somewhat strange but not unwelcome events of his evening and in part because he did spend part of the time making comments to the man on his right. He’s almost positive he made Yuuri snort at his comment about the Seven Dwarves doing the Cupid Shuffle in the background as Princess Charming kissed the prince and brought him back to life, but when he’d looked Yuuri had covered his mouth with his hand so he’s not sure of anything. Yuuri himself had made a particularly scathing comment when the Evil King/old wizard character had nearly toppled off the stage trying perhaps a little too enthusiastically to do jazz hands while also accomplishing some complicated footwork, which had Viktor nearly in tears from trying to contain himself at the unexpectedness of it and a man in the row behind them angrily shushing him.

They do applaud when the show is over, because as questionable as the content may have been the performers did a good job of presenting what the program promised. Some of them, Viktor thinks to himself, were actually quite talented, and he wonders how exactly they got involved with such a bizarre production. He supposes a case could be made for doing what you’re passionate about or something like that, but for him what he was always passionate about was being the best in a technical sense while also managing to keep people on their toes with his presentation of the dance. He knows better than most exactly how jaded the crowd can be, particularly the veteran audience members, having seen the same shows in some cases performed in various seasons over the years. All in all, what he does ( _did_ ) isn’t really that much different from what these performers had done on the stage mere moments ago. Technical elements combined with a “wow” factor to keep the audience on their toes, Viktor just preferred to be a little more subtle and high-brow in his methods.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Yuuri looking nervous again, like he might spook and head for the hills if Phichit weren’t on his other side, keeping him fenced in. Viktor turns to face him as the applause slowly dwindles and people begin to make their way leisurely to the exits. “I believe I remember something about a photo opportunity?” he smirks, while Yuuri attempts to avoid making eye contact with him. Paying no mind to the other man’s stiff posture, he grabs him by the hand and pulls him out of the row after Chris, who’s already started walking towards the exit.

“Here, use my phone so I can post to Instagram! Viktor, would you mind taking a picture of us for me? I’d do it myself but Yuuri told me I shouldn’t bring my selfie stick to a ballet,” Phichit asks, getting in on the action. Viktor nods, taking his unlocked phone and waiting for the other three men to settle on a pose, Christophe in the middle and Yuuri and Phichit on either side. Chris has his normal publicity shot smolder going on, eyes half-lidded; Phichit looks pleased with a bright smile even though Viktor’s almost certain he doesn’t know who Chris is; Yuuri, on the other hand, is giving a forced smile belying his discomfort. Viktor frowns, but then he has an idea that might make Yuuri smile legitimately. He makes literally the most horrifying face he knows how (he did practice that a fair bit when he was a child, after all, to make behind the back of his strictest instructors and he still makes faces at Yakov on occasion). The face (one eye squinted, nose scrunched, jaw slack and lips pulled back from his teeth) has the desired effect, and he manages to get a few shots of Yuuri lit up in amusement before he covers his face and dissolves into laughter. Does Viktor feel dignified right now? No, but that’s not particularly important when he’s basking in the smile of this man who he just met but whose thoughts already mean more to him than they probably should.

“Thanks! They’re even better than I had hoped they would be, since I didn’t take them myself. Not that I thought you’d be a bad photographer or anything, I’m just super picky and I have a specific vibe I’m cultivating on my insta, you know?” Phichit babbles apologetically as he swipes through the pictures on his phone. “Yuuri, which one do you think? I know you’re a little picky about how you look in pictures, so I want to give you final approval.” They all move in closer together to peer at the screen, though Viktor is really looking more at Yuuri’s face than at the phone in Phichit’s hand.

“Hmm…I think the second one’s better, maybe? I haven’t started laughing yet in that one so I don’t look like an absolute idiot.” Yuuri bites his lip, trying to make up his mind, before nodding slightly and reaffirming, “Yes, that one’s the best of the bunch I think.”

“All right, I’ll post it right away! Christophe, is it okay if I tag you in the picture? I mean I’d assume so but I don’t want to assume too far,” Phichit asks, head swiveling towards Chris. Chris smiles and nods. “It’s always an honor to be tagged in an actual photo of myself, as opposed to random pictures of people I don’t know or inanimate objects that get posted to fan accounts,” he responds with a wink. “I love my fans, but sometimes I resent how clogged my photo tag gets with things that aren’t me.”

“Oh, Viktor, do you have an insta? So I can tag you for photo creds?” Phichit asks, and Viktor panics a little (okay, a lot more than a little if he’s going to be honest with himself). If he tells Phichit his Instagram, which is basically just his name, and Yuuri recognizes it, he might freak out and Viktor will never see him again. He might not recognize it, of course, but given that he recognized Christophe and the way he was looking at Viktor earlier as though he might know him, that’s probably too much to hope for.

“Cat got your tongue, Vitya?” Christophe asks, puzzled. “If I recall correctly, his Instagram is just--” Viktor almost lets out an undignified screeching sound in his rush to silence Chris with an elbow to the ribs.

“I don’t have an Instagram anymore, Chris. I deleted it a few weeks ago, remember? Or did I not tell you? Nope, no Instagram here. Sorry Phichit, but I don’t mind not receiving credit. I’ll tell you what though, you can make it up to me by taking a picture of me, Yuuri, and Christophe?” Viktor laughs nervously, receiving a confused dirty look from Chris as he rubs the tender spot on his ribs.

Phichit, if he notices anything off about Viktor’s deflection, chooses not to comment. “Sure. Let me see your phone, and you guys go stand over there where the light’s better.” They position themselves for the best light possible, Yuuri in the middle this time ( _“Because they’re almost the same height and you’re obviously a little shorter, Yuuri!”_ ), arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders. Yuuri is still tense, and Viktor’s still feeling a bit mischievous, so naturally he lets one of his hands skate lightly down Yuuri’s side, tickling before pulling him closer to himself and eliciting a yelp and a nervous giggle from his target. “That’s a great smile, Yuuri! Get in closer, pretend you’re happy to be surrounded by these two insanely attractive men!” Phichit shouts. Yuuri groans and tries to cover his face, but between Christophe and Viktor’s closeness to him he can’t get his arms up high enough from where they were resting on the other men’s shoulders.

“Okay, okay I think this is enough pictures. Phichit, don’t you have work early tomorrow? And hamsters at home that need feeding? Christophe, thank you so much for taking a photo with me. You’re very good to your fans. Viktor…” Yuuri hesitates when he turns to speak to Viktor. “It was good to meet you. I really enjoyed our conversation,” he finishes, that shy smile back on his face.

“Likewise, Yuuri. Maybe I’ll see you around?” Viktor asks, trying not to seem desperate but probably failing or coming off as entirely too aloof. He shuffles his feet, resisting the urge to tighten the scarf Yuuri is wearing now around his neck.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see at least one of us again. Bye, Chris! Bye Viktor!” Phichit waves, pulling a pink-cheeked Yuuri along behind him out the double doors and into the chilly Detroit night. Viktor watches them go until he can’t see them anymore for the glare of the light in the glass doors and their distance. He turns to look at Christophe, who’s looking at him with a positively shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh, Vitya. You’re already halfway in love with him, aren’t you?” Christophe asks, not judging exactly but the Viktor’s not sure how he feels about the tone he’s using. It feels like he’s trying to gently scold Viktor almost, though he’s not entirely sure what for.

“And if I am?” he returns, wrinkling his nose. “Are you actually going to shame me for the first positive emotion I’ve had in months?”

“No, Vitya. Just…be careful. I know how you are when you’ve sunk your teeth into something, you give that thing your all, sometimes at the expense of yourself. That’s part of what made you such a brilliant performer, of course, but this is different. This is a person you’ve only just met and as far as I know have no way of contacting again. I do think it’s wonderful that you’ve come out of your hermitage, I am, but please please _please_ be careful,” Christophe pleads.

“Fuck, you’re right. I don’t know his number! Or where he works or lives. Hmm…maybe I can find Phichit’s Instagram and message him that way…” Viktor mumbles to himself as they walk towards the doors. Chris rolls his eyes.

“Is that seriously all you got out of the moving emotional plea I just made to you?” Chris asks.

“I heard the rest, but yes I focused on the important part: I don’t know how to find Yuuri again, but that’s something to work on. It’s going to be grand, Christophe, don’t worry about me. I’ll track him down, show up at his door with his favorite food—note to self, find out his favorite food—in my sexiest outfit and we can eat together and talk together and be friends and maybe more and we can do things together and maybe he’ll fall in love with me too and Makkachin will love him and we’ll move in together and live happily ever after and—” Christophe sighs heavily, throwing one arm dramatically over his eyes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Vitya. You don’t know if he’s interested in guys, although I know you’re gorgeous enough that you’ve made many a supposed straight man second-guess himself. More importantly, though: _you don’t even know his phone number_!” he exclaimed.

“How little faith you have in me, Christophe. I’ll get his number. I’d challenge you to a bet, but I’m not trying to end up in a _She’s All That_ -style mess,” Viktor states. “So just take me at my word: I will find him. We will be friends, if nothing else. There was too much chemistry there tonight for anything less. I’d be very, very surprised if he is able to resist my charms. You should just be happy I’m interested in something again, that I have some sort of direction in my life.”

“Poor Yuuri, doesn’t even know what he got himself into. Poor me, having to attempt to be the responsible one in this friendship for once in my life,” Christophe mourns. “Come on then, Vitya. Let’s go home so that you can start your quest bright and early tomorrow. They find a taxi back to Viktor’s apartment, and Christophe only thinks once about jumping out of the vehicle to get away from Viktor’s incessant yammering about how wonderful Yuuri (probably) is.


	5. Chapter Five

Viktor is ready to pull his own hair out (or at least, he would be if he weren’t somewhat preoccupied with his hair thinning out as he gets older and his own personal vanity). Three weeks now, three weeks he’s been trying anything and everything he can think of to track down the mysterious and alluring man he met while on a night out with his best friend at the ballet. Yuuri has proved to be much harder to locate or find information on than he had originally thought. He’d tried the Yellow Pages, but that had proved too difficult since he didn’t know Yuuri’s last name. He’d attempted to comb through Christophe’s Instagram tagged photos, but as Chris had stated earlier, most of the picture he got tagged in were not actually photos of him but fan art or even just random photos uploaded by his fans trying to snag his attention and likes, so assuming Phichit had tagged Chris he couldn’t find it. He’d tried looking for him through Facebook, Twitter, Myspace (oh, the olden days of Myspace…) and found absolutely nothing, aside from some middle-aged Japanese man based out of Miami. Definitely not Yuuri. Viktor thinks he might cry. At least the only person around to see him is Makkachin.

Okay, so if Viktor can’t find Yuuri again, where does that leave him? Well, that part is easily answered, he’s still sitting on his couch with a lap full of dog, he supposes the better question is _what_ does that leave him. Viktor doesn’t want to admit to himself that maybe Christophe had been right in telling him to be cautious, warning him against putting all of his hope for the future on this one person that he knew for less than 2 hours before deciding he wanted to be his new best friend (or boyfriend, Viktor wasn’t going to be picky with the details on that point).

He can’t deny, however, that the spark of whatever it was that he’d felt the night he met Yuuri was probably the most positive feeling he’d had towards anyone in months, maybe since even before he was forced into retirement. It was good, if nothing else, to know that he was still capable of feeling emotions aside from anger, sadness, frustration, and numbness (not actually an emotion probably but considering it was something he’d felt a lot lately he counts it as such). During this search, he’s felt frustration still, for different reasons than usual, but also moments of hope and excitement, and he’s caught himself smiling sometimes when the daydreams of all the things he’d like to do with Yuuri if he can only find him again are allowed a little too much free reign.

He leans his head back on the couch where he’s been sat for most of his waking hours the last three weeks on his phone or his laptop, chasing down any possible sources to Yuuri. His feet are a little cold, but he doesn’t want to disturb Makkachin to put them under the blanket so he resigns himself to his suffering while he continues to ponder. That ever-persistent thought of _what now?_ continues pestering him, and he thumps his skull repeatedly (but not very hard) against the couch cushions. Neither they nor Makkachin have any answers.

The real problem, he supposes, is that he’s not sure what else he _can_ do with himself, even if he gives up on searching for Yuuri. As his friends have been telling him, it does more harm than good to go on the way he has been, and he almost thinks he’s ready for some change. When he was still able to perform, he only ever allowed himself a week or two here or there of rest from dancing, and even that wasn’t entirely sedimentary time. He’s spent most of the last months laying around either on the couch, in bed, or sometimes on the floor if he was feeling the need for a little variety. He’d really only left the house to walk Makkachin and get food, and aside from feeling weaker than he could remember he’s also starting to feel itchy with more energy than he knew what to do with sitting around the house but no logical outlet for that energy (aside from physical therapy, and Viktor wasn’t that bored yet thank God).

But if he can’t do the one thing that he was extremely good at, what exactly _could_ he do? He’d devoted himself to becoming the best classically trained ballet dancer in the world, perhaps at the expense of any other skills. It isn’t that Viktor isn’t smart, because he is, and he does love to read, but he didn’t finish his university degree, and in the current job market it’s next to impossible to get a so-called “real job” without at least a bachelor’s in something. He supposes he could go back and finish his degree, but he’s not sure if the universities in the US would take the credits from his old program back in Russia and transfer them or if he’d have to start from scratch (it doesn’t help that it had been more than a few years since he’d abandoned his studies to dance full-time, things change fairly quickly and he doubts that even if he tried it at his old university it would be a smooth transition). He’s also not as able-bodied as he had been before his injury, so it’s not like he could take just any old job either. Anything where he’d have to stand or walk for long periods of time are out, as are jobs involving too much heavy lifting. This was part of why he hadn’t tried to think about the whole thing too hard before, because if he did sit down and try to come up with a plan for what he was going to do with himself it just got very depressing very quickly when he realized how many things were no longer possibilities for him, and then he’d end up wrapped up in a snuggie eating organic pita chips and hummus directly out of the container while curled into the fetal position in his bed, losing track of time and when the last time he’d showered was. It was better not to think about it.

Speaking of organic pita chips, he’s pretty much out of those, and most other food as well. While Makkachin continues to doze in his lap, Viktor taps out a grocery list into his phone so that he can take Makka for a walk, then go by Whole Foods and stock up. If he’s going to be continuing to look for Yuuri/opportunities for his future, he’s going to need sustenance, preferably of the healthy variety. His sole saving grace after having pretty much stopped exerting himself the last few months was his high metabolism, and his avoidance of junk food probably helped. He doesn’t want to think about what he’d think of himself if he were to become visibly unfit for his former career, as opposed to just internally unfit. Maybe if he sees that one cashier again he can ask him how rough selling weed is on the knees. He’s not that desperate yet, but it might be useful information if he can’t come up with a better plan.

Viktor sighs, shifting his legs enough that Makkachin wakes up and jumps down from the couch, tail wagging playfully. He stoops to put on some nicer shoes than his usual dog-walking shoes, and they head out for a brisk walk so that Viktor can drop Makka back off at the apartment before heading out to shop. After that’s accomplished, he takes the bus to his usual Whole Foods, getting through his shopping in no particular hurry and stopping to look at and pick out some things that weren’t on his list but that do seem appealing and worth a try. When he approaches the checkout line, he doesn’t see the cashier who tried to sell him weed, so he just picks the shortest line. He’s double-checking his list against the things he has in his cart to make sure he has everything when he feels someone prod him sharply in between his shoulder blades, making him arch forwards trying to escape the aggressive contact. He’s about to turn and curse whoever it is out, but then he sees who it is.

“Phichit! I didn’t expect to see you here!” he exclaims, scowl fading immediately from his face as he pulls him in for a hug. Phichit laughs, getting fully into the hug and responding in kind.

“Yeah, I don’t usually shop at Whole Foods, it’s a little too bougie for me, but my friend was telling me about this miracle sauce they sell here that she puts on literally everything. I’m skeptical, of course, but it can’t hurt to try something new, right?” he explains cheerfully, gesturing with the bottle in his hand. Viktor can’t see exactly what kind of sauce it is, but internally he is praising both the creator of the sauce and Phichit’s friend for bringing their paths together once more. “Looks like you’re doing your regular shopping though huh? Ooh, those apple chips look pretty good. Have you had them before, or are you trying something new?”

Viktor continues to make small talk about the groceries in his cart for about another 86 seconds before he deems it acceptable to bring up Yuuri as a topic. He tries to be smooth, but in all likelihood fails miserably with his mission. “So, how’s Yuuri been doing? I tried to look both of you up after the performance since we all live in the same area and might want to hang out sometime, but I couldn’t find any trace of either of you on social media,” he states. Phichit chuckles, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Here, do you have Whatsapp? I use it to keep in touch with my friends and family around the globe, and it’s cheaper than sending text messages. Just add yourself to my contacts and send yourself a text while you’re at it, so you’ll have my number too. We can maybe coordinate things that way?” Viktor accepts the offered phone and puts down his details, worrying his lip as he debates adding his last name to his contact but instead decides to just leave it at his first name. He does as Phichit suggested, because of course he has Whatsapp, he used to live in Europe after all, he’s spent most of the last 15 years traveling and away from his friends, and of course he wants to have Phichit’s contact information. After all the frustration and angst that he might never find a way to get in touch with Yuuri, this is too good an opportunity to let slip through his fingers.

“Done and done!” he says happily, returning the phone to its rightful owner and stepping forward to begin putting the items from his cart onto the belt.

“And to answer your question, Yuuri’s doing all right, I guess. We’ve both been pretty busy as usual, but he’s been even more so because he’s had to take on more responsibilities in this group he works with at one of the local after-school programs. I don’t know if he mentioned it when you guys were talking at the show the other night, but he teaches dance classes at a youth center a few blocks from our apartment. It’s part of one of those programs to try to give kids a creative outlet and give them brighter future, because in case you hadn’t looked around at Detroit lately, there aren’t a ton of great role models on the streets for these kids. It gives them a place to go after school to stay out of trouble and they can get help with their homework and have some fun while they’re at it. The only trouble is that there have been funding cuts recently, and given the country’s current government,” he makes a face before continuing, “it doesn’t look like anything about that is going to change any time soon. They used to have 3 dance instructors teaching a total of about a hundred kids, which was already less than ideal, but then one of the other teachers got their car stolen and since they live way out of the area they couldn’t make it in half the time so they’ve just had to stop coming, and it’s been a pretty major strain on Yuuri and the other remaining teacher. The kids themselves are pretty great, but there’s only so far that can take you when you’ve got that many kids to divide between just two teachers. He’s been pretty stressed out lately.”

Viktor clucks his tongue knowingly at that remark, he remembered from his early childhood what it was like to be in a class of decent size, the frazzled instructor having to try to keep her eyes on all 20-some kids at once to make sure they were staying on task but also not hurting themselves or one another. He can’t fathom what it would be like to have to have to teach and monitor _fifty_ kids all at once. The most kids he’d ever been responsible for at one time was three, and that was one time for about thirty minutes when his former next-door neighbor had had to pick up her other child from school while the other three were home sick with the flu, so they weren’t exactly very energetic or problematic for him. Suddenly, though, he’s stuck with an idea, the brilliance of which nearly blinds him and he freezes with a can of lentil soup in his hand before he can set it on the conveyor belt.

“Do you think they could use a volunteer instructor, at least until they find a permanent instructor?” he asks, trying to contain the building excitement in his voice.

“Hmmm…I don’t know. I’m not even sure if they’re looking for a permanent replacement, there aren’t that many people who would take such a low salary as the one that accompanies this job. Besides, it’s not exactly like there are a ton of people in the neighborhood who have the knowledge to train a small horde of underprivileged kids in classical ballet, you know? They tried putting out an ad in the paper but the only people who responded either weren’t qualified enough or they tried to demand more money than the program had to offer. Why, do you know someone who might be interested?” Phichit asks.

“Well…I myself have some degree of classical training, and I used to dance when I was younger. I was thinking, I don’t necessarily need a huge salary or anything, and if they think I’m qualified enough, maybe I can fill in for now, until a more ideal solution comes along?” he responds, full of tentative excitement. “I’ve spent most of the last while just lazing around, not doing anything productive, and I was just saying to myself that I need to get out of this funk and start contributing to society again before I lose my mind.” It’s an understatement to say that he has “some” training, and he’s lying by omission when he neglects to mention how he only stopped dancing a few months ago. That’s not important right now though.

“I’ll ask Yuuri when I get back to the apartment what he thinks then. I can’t answer as well as he can, since he’s the one actually working with the program. But I’ll let you know what he says as soon as I talk to him, as long as he doesn’t have to run it by the directors first. It obviously might take a little longer if he has to check with them first, so don’t be disappointed if it takes a couple of days to get a response. But, coming from me personally, I think it’d be great to have another instructor, for both the other teachers as well as for the students,” Phichit whispers conspiratorially. Viktor’s smile threatens to split his face open.

“All right then, I’ll look forward to you letting me know one way or another before too long. In the meantime, if you and Yuuri want to do something sometime soon, you know how to contact me. I’ve got to hurry back before my frozen burritos defrost entirely, but I hope things go well for you and that that sauce is every bit as amazing as your friend told you it was,” Viktor says as he finishes his transaction and collects his grocery bags. Phichit gives him a friendly wave, and Viktor heads back to his apartment with his arms weighted down by his groceries but his heart and mind feeling lighter than air. Not even dropping his phone into his borscht later that evening could put a damper on his mood.


	6. Chapter Six

Water drips down Viktor’s legs as he climbs out of the shallow end of the pool. He’d been in a good mood earlier, a good enough mood that he’d actually decided to go to his physical therapy session instead of bitching and moaning about it before ultimately talking himself out of it, as he usually did. The therapy center he went to had all kinds of strength building and mobility equipment, but today his resident had decided he needed to do some kind of resistance training in the water, and so he found himself doing something that reminded him a little too much of the old ladies in the water aerobics class he saw on TV that one time. His knee was sore from the workout, and he wasn’t totally convinced that any of this was doing him any good whatsoever, but at least if anyone asked he could say he came and put in some effort towards his recovery today. Not that anyone was asking, that is. Makkachin was a dog, and couldn’t ask, and his friends from before the accident knew better than to ask him how it was going. It was a sore topic for him, in more ways than one. And then there were his new friends, Phichit and Yuuri. He’s been texting back and forth with Phichit for a few days now, about all kinds of silly things and sometimes about more serious things. Yuuri did in fact have to seek approval from the directors of the program and they’d been taking their sweet time getting back to them with a decision. Phichit and Yuuri don’t know anything really about Viktor’s past, only that he apparently used to dance and had classical training, and that he somehow knew Christophe Giacometti. He knew this was a dangerous game he was playing, not being up-front with them about precisely who he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually admit that he was more than just some random, average guy who used to take ballet classes.

“I know it probably doesn’t seem like much to you, Mr. Nikiforov, but it’s clear to me that you’ve made progress since the first time you came through our doors,” the resident ( _Allison? Ariana? Why could he never remember her name?_ ) says as she finishes making some notes on her clipboard. “You’d probably be even better off if you’d actually come to more than just every third appointment.” She glares at him pointedly, and he looks sheepishly at some point on the ceiling. He knows he should come to his appointments, he knows it, but some days it’s so hard to convince himself that it’s worth it to put in all that effort if he’s never actually going to get back to the way he had been before. There’s only so much one can do, after all, for a shattered kneecap, especially when that shattered kneecap was surrounded by ligaments that had been practically shredded. He knew from the moment he woke up in the hospital after the surgery that he’d never have his career back, if only because even through the heavy painkillers he could still feel his knee. The bruised ribs, the sprained wrist, not so much, but the knee was still a constant needling pain. Even through the mild concussion, he was still aware of the sensation that his world had tilted off its axis, that haunting feeling of inescapable, irrevocable change.

“I’ll try to be better about that, I promise. It’s just been…a rough adjustment for me, I think. I imagine you must hear that a lot, and I know it’s not a very good excuse. But I’m trying,” he murmurs, running his fingers nervously through the hair hanging in front of his eye.

“I can imagine. I suffered a patella fracture myself when I was in high school, and I had to go through a lot of physical therapy and a surgery to repair it. It’s still not fun or easy to deal with it, but it _is_ manageable. Yeah, it still hurts like a _bitch_ when I go up the stairs, and a lot of demanding physical activity hurts, but the fact remains that I did what I had to do to make the best of things. I didn’t take the medicine they gave me for the pain, because that had some unpleasant side effects for me, but I got through the other end. You’ve just got to stick with it.” Much to Viktor’s surprise, she punctuates her statement by thumping him on the head with her clipboard.

“I…thanks. For the help today, and the advice. I’m not the best patient, am I? And wow, without painkillers? For all that I’m a dancer and my body puts up with a lot, I think if I’d had to do those first few weeks without painkillers I would have spent most of my time crying,” he shudders. “That’s very impressive, ah…”

She rolls her eyes. “Anna. This is, what, the fourth time I’ve had to tell you that? It’s not like it’s a hard name, even in Russia you have something similar. You keep forgetting my name and I’m going to conveniently ‘forget’ that I’m not supposed to smack my patients.”

“Sorry, sorry sorry! Anyways, I’ll see you next Tuesday? I promise I’ll show up, or at least give you advance warning if I don’t end up feeling up to it,” he says. She just rolls her eyes at him again and shoos him out of the pool area, so he can finish drying off and head out.

As he’s pulling his shoes back on, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. It’s a notification from Phichit. _Heya Viktor, Yuuri got the thumbs-up from the directors to bring u in for an interview so they can see exactly what it is that u know. Are u free this afternoon at about 3?_ Viktor grins to himself, shoelaces forgotten as he types out a response. _yeah im free then, where is it??? im excited and i hope this works out!_ He only has to wait a few seconds for a response. _Text me ur address and I’ll make sure Yuuri comes to pick u up on his way in, he’s got the car today. Unless u would prefer to take the bus… ;)_ So Viktor happily texts him his address, and in response receives _kk cool he should be by at ~2:45, look for the crappy Toyota with a bad teal paint job I promise it’s not a drug dealer good luck!!!_

Viktor, upon returning to his apartment, fixes himself a Chipotle-style burrito bowl but without the food poisoning and after giving Makkachin the leftover chicken shreddings settles down at his small dining table for probably the first time in weeks. It’s not that he was opposed to sitting at the table, necessarily, more just that it was easier to sit on the couch and watch Netflix on his TV while he ate, and since he almost never had dinner company it was more entertaining to have something else to do as he tried to maintain some degree of healthy nutrition in his life. Today, however, he wants to take the time out to mentally prepare himself for both the interview since it had been forever since the last time he’d had a job interview and also for seeing Yuuri again for the first time in weeks. Was it a bad sign, that he was more jittery about seeing Yuuri again than about a job interview? He doesn’t want to think too much about what that says about him as a person or a potential employee, because it probably doesn’t say anything terribly useful.

He decides to google interview techniques while he eats, because while he’s fairly certain he’s overqualified for whatever position this may be, it certainly can’t hurt to have an idea of what kind of questions they might ask him. After all, in the past when he got a job it was almost entirely based off the merit of his own dancing ability and minimally off the actual speaking part. Not to say that Viktor was an idiot incapable of getting through a spoken interview, of course, he knows he’s quite a charming person and perfectly able to string together coherent sentences (albeit sometimes a little lacking in tact, but that’s mostly just with people he’s comfortable with). Between the interview tips (“Use a firm handshake!’ “Come prepared with a list of your strengths and weaknesses!” “Dress for success!”) and how long it takes him to eat one-handed, time flies fairly quickly until it’s time for him to go get dressed for the interview and head downstairs to look for Yuuri. He actually forgot to be nervous for a bit, but now his nerves are back and manifesting in him fiddling with his hair in the front camera on his phone while he waits in the lobby of his building. He’s not waiting long, however, before the prophesied ugly teal Toyota arrives out front.

He walks outside, a huge smile on his face as he spots Yuuri in the driver’s seat. He hasn’t seen him since the night they met, and he thinks he might be even more adorable now in the faded t-shirt and sweatpants he has on. There’s a moment of awkwardness where Yuuri has forgotten to unlock the passenger side door for Viktor to get in, and he almost chokes himself with his seatbelt lurching to correct it.

“Long time no see, Yuuri. How’ve you been?” Viktor asks as he fastens his seatbelt, having already situated his duffel bag in the backseat. (It was a) highly improbable that they would ask him to do anything too intensive to prove he knows what he’s talking about and b) a very bad idea to try to take them up on it if they did ask him to, given the shape his body was in but he decided it would be better to be safe than sorry.)

“Ah, I’ve been all right. Life’s been pretty busy lately, working both with this program and also teaching classes during the daytime at the Detroit School of Arts, but it’s a good kind of busy I think. I hope you’ve been well?” he responds, pulling away from Viktor’s building.

“I’ve been both better and worse, I suppose. I’m neither dying of some incurable sexually transmitted disease nor have I just won the lottery, so I’m just at a happy medium right now. I haven’t been too terribly busy myself, just doing the usual stuff around the house. But that’s hopefully going to change soon, no?” He bumps Yuuri’s shoulder lightly with his own at that point. “I knew you worked teaching dance, but I didn’t know you were balancing two different jobs doing it. You must be really passionate about dance, hmm?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’ve been dancing almost as long as I’ve been walking, but I couldn’t quite control my anxiety and nervous tendencies to make it performing in front of huge crowds though, but it’s what I specialized in during college and now here I am…” he trails off, laughing a sad, self-deprecating laugh under his breath. “I’m not sure who I am without ballet in my life, and once Phichit and I both graduated he found a job with a company out here and while I was loafing around trying to decide what to do with my life he secretly set me up with an interview here and somehow I managed not to panic and mess everything up and it’s a decent job, so I can’t say I regret it.” He shrugs, eyes still on the road.

“Huh. So you just…stumbled into all this? And how did you get involved with the other program?” Viktor asks, eyes on Yuuri’s profile. His hair’s even more adorably mussed than it was the night they met, his glasses starting to slip down his nose. As grateful as Viktor is that Yuuri’s a cautious driver, keeping his focus on the road where it should be, he wishes he could look him in the eyes while they talk, because he’s of the opinion that they’re quite lovely eyes. He knows a lot of people think that brown eyes are boring and common, comparable to cow patties or mud or something unpleasant, but he finds that he rather prefers the warmth brown eyes convey over the cool ice of blue eyes or the muddled hues of hazel eyes. Yuuri’s eyes in particular make him think of his comfortable leather dress shoes or of a cozy cabin in the woods somewhere. But now Yuuri’s talking again, and he wants to pay attention to everything he has to say.

“That’s one way of putting it. Phichit, like I said, played a pretty big role in not only my decision to come to Detroit but also my decision to stay in the US. I was so unsure of myself and my future that I almost went back home to Japan, tail between my legs because I felt like I’d wasted so much time and money on something that I didn’t even have the guts to do so what was the point in staying here? My family has an inn in my hometown, I probably would have gone back and ended up working there if Phichit hadn’t pushed me into doing what I’m doing now. As for how I ended up working with this program…one of my neighbors is friends with the director, and they’d apparently been talking about wanting to expand the program offerings, and passed the word along to me. I just figured, I remembered how important dance was to me when I was growing up, it’s always been my outlet to express myself, and if I could offer that same escape to someone else, how could I say no?” he says, voice carrying more passion towards the end of his impromptu speech. His cheeks color as he realizes that he was being a little louder than was strictly necessary within the confines of the Toyota, but Viktor wasn’t bothered by it at all. If anything, Viktor’s feeding off his energy, his obvious pride and conviction in what he’s doing, seeing how important this is to Yuuri. Viktor would be lying if he said he didn’t find it attractive as well, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I’m happy for you that you find this so rewarding, then. I know a lot of people get very comfortable in their cushy jobs, and don’t really feel the need to give anything extra back to the world. I’ve been guilty of that same thing, I know, but I’m doing my best to work on it. It’s all part of the human experience, growing, working on your faults and striving towards that unachievable perfection,” he says wistfully, looking out into the distance. When he turns back to look at Yuuri again Yuuri is already looking at him with a very strange expression on his face, but then the light changes and they continue moving.

“So, Yuuri, do you have any tips for me on how to get through this interview?” Viktor asks, changing the subject.

“Ah, well…I haven’t seen your CV or anything, but assuming you know enough about dance it really shouldn’t be that rough. Even if you don’t have experience working with kids before, we’re in enough of a bind that it probably won’t matter too much. We’ll probably end up having you shadow the other instructor any myself for a few sessions, just to get the feel for how to interact with the kids, and you’ll obviously have to do the training modules online, but honestly don’t worry too much about it. The other candidates we’ve interviewed lately either didn’t have enough knowledge to teach, or their hours at their other jobs were conflicting with this one. You seem like you have enough time to devote to this as well as having the understanding of the art to be able to do the job for as long as it might be necessary,” Yuuri assures him, bringing the car to a stop outside a somewhat dilapidated building.

“Um…I don’t want to betray my personal privilege and ignorance, but…are you quite sure this is safe?” Viktor asks nervously.

“It’s a bit rough looking on the outside, yes, but I promise you it’s safe. Things look a lot better on the inside. There hasn’t been enough money in the budget recently to spend it on the outside, but it’s structurally sound and the heat and water work, and it’s insulated properly,” Yuuri responds, handing Viktor his bag from the backseat and approaching the entrance. “Don’t worry, I thought the same thing the first time I came here. It really puts things into perspective though, doesn’t it? How lucky we are that we can take that sort of thing for granted, and have the privilege to look at this and feel like it’s lesser somehow when a lot of the kids who come here live in situations far more precarious than a few missing roof tiles and a rusty door.” Viktor feels chastised, although he knows Yuuri didn’t mean it that way. He’s just stating facts, no meanness or judgment in his tone. “I’ll walk you to the office, and then get on my way to set up for my class. Come on,” Yuuri says, leading the way into the building and towards what neither of them could possibly know would be a turning point in both their lives.


	7. Chapter Seven

“Hello, Viktor. It’s nice to meet you.” The woman in front of him has a much lower voice than he’d originally expected, but then, he supposes he shouldn’t be making assumptions about people without knowing anything about them. All he can tell of her by looking is that she’s fairly short, with lots of hair tied up in elaborate twists. She could be anywhere between 30 and 60, he’s never had much luck guessing with people of African descent. Her posture speaks of strength and grace, head held high and shoulders back, as though she herself may have been a dancer at some point. She’s also got a very no-nonsense vibe, but that may just be Viktor’s nerves projecting things. She seems nice enough, anyways, offering him a seat at the chair in front of her desk. The furniture is all second-hand, but it’s stable, so he takes the offered chair.

“Likewise, Ms., ah…” he trails off, uncertain of her name. Damn him, forgetting to ask Yuuri before he walked away and disappeared down the hall somewhere, presumably to get his teaching space ready for the arrival of the students in an hour.

She takes it in stride, laughing at him and his obvious wrong-footedness. “Edwards. But I’d prefer it if you’d just call me by my first name, Krista. We’re not a particularly formal bunch here.”

“Right, Krista. My apologies, still, for not knowing my possible future employer’s information. That was terribly rude of me,” Viktor apologizes.

“It’s not a problem, honestly. But enough about all that, we’re here to talk about you. Be as self-centered as you want right here and now, get it out of your system, because I want to know about you and why you want to work here, but there’s no place for an oversized ego outside of this interview. If you get this job, I don’t care if you’ve danced for President Obama himself, we don’t have time or room for dealing with fragile or unmanageable ego issues here. Our primary goal is to help these kids find a creative outlet and hone their talent, to teach them something that might make a difference in their world. That leaves no time for petty argument over who’s had the most prestigious art school education or who’s danced with what company or which school of dance is the most correct, are we understood?” Viktor nods aggressively in agreement.

“Here is my updated resume, so you can call my references if need be and see what my experience is. Well, if we’re talking about me…I started dancing when I was very small, trained in one of the best conservatories St. Petersburg had to offer until I was in my teens, when I joined my first travelling company and went on the road. I worked my way up fairly quickly to being a principal dancer for the Mariinsky Ballet in St. Petersburg, where I had the delight of performing up until circumstances forced my retirement late last year. I’ve been struggling with my somewhat uncertain future, since ballet was virtually my entire life for over twenty-five years, but things changed. I’m hoping that working here, with these kids, will help me to figure out what I’m meant to be doing with myself, while also giving me the opportunity to contribute to the community in a meaningful way,” he says, not betraying his nerves that have nearly vanished the more he speaks.

“Viktor Nikiforov…I can’t honestly say that I ever thought I’d have you sitting here in my office, interviewing for a part-time job. Yes, I’m aware of who you are,” Krista says, cutting off Viktor’s surprised noise. “Almost anyone who’s ever had much passion for ballet would know who you are, I think. People have been wondering where you’d disappeared to, what happened to you. You look different from how you were before, which is probably the only reason I didn’t recognize you sooner. So tell me, Mr. Nikiforov, where _did_ you go?” Seeing the stricken look on his face, she continues speaking. “I mean, only if it’s not too personal. It won’t really affect your chance of getting the job if you decline to answer. I don’t want to dig up things that might be too painful to speak of right now. I usually prefer to have my employees around for a month or two before I make them cry with uncomfortable personal questions,” she says with a joking smile, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“I’d rather not talk too much about it right now, if that’s fine with you. There was…an accident, and as a result of that I can no longer do the things I used to do. I can still teach, of course,” he adds with mild panic in his voice, “but I’m not up to being anyone’s principal dancer anymore.”

“Of course, I understand completely. I’m sorry, I know this must be quite the adjustment for you, going from the glamour of that to the industrial atmosphere of Detroit.” She shuffles through some papers on the desk, handing him some forms once she finds the specific things she was looking for. “Well, assuming I haven’t put you off too much by dredging up your painful past and terrifying you by seeing through your cover, here’s a schedule of the hours the program runs and your potential teaching schedule, if you’d still like the job. Knowing who you are, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re probably the most qualified candidate we’ll ever have in terms of dancing know-how. If you’ll look over those, and then fill out these forms, we’ll have you in the system and ready to go by the end of the week.” Viktor’s a little shell-shocked at how fast that interview was, and still a bit stunned at being recognized.

“I…yes, certainly, thank you very much. I’ll do my best,” he murmurs, perusing the papers in front of him.

“The only thing I really don’t understand here, aside from your general presence in my office, is how Yuuri didn’t recognize you. He’s pretty much one of your biggest fans, when we had “Role Model Day” last month you’re the one he came dressed as and told the kids about. I’d think if I could recognize you, surely he would too,” Krista ponders in the background, worrying her lower lip in confusion.

“Really? I had no idea,” Viktor says, looking up in excitement at that nugget of information. That’s so cute, that Yuuri looks up to him as a dancer. But…there are so many ways this could go wrong. What if Krista blows Viktor’s cover before he has the chance to get to know Yuuri, and he spends the rest of eternity avoiding Viktor? What if he hates him for not telling the truth in the first place? Words swim in front of Viktor’s eyes as he continues trying to read the papers in front of his face, but he’s too worried about messing things up with Yuuri before he even properly has the chance to do things right with Yuuri.

He clears his throat. “Ah, Krista, about that…please don’t tell Yuuri who I am.” Krista looks up at him sharply, obviously not liking the idea of lying to Yuuri about this, and not understanding why Viktor would ask her to do that. “I’m not sure how he hasn’t recognized me either, if what you’re saying is true. But I think at this point, I should probably be the one to tell him the truth. I don’t want to mess it up and end up losing out on the friendship we’re building.”

Krista examines him for a moment, giving him goosebumps on his arms with the intensity of her stare. “Fine, I won’t tell him. But you can’t keep this a secret forever, Viktor. That’s not good for either of you, and you really shouldn’t try to build any kind of relationship on lies,” she concedes. “This also falls under the category of ‘nonsense that I don’t need or tolerate in the workplace’. Don’t let it get out of control, and don’t fuck with Yuuri’s focus. It’s hard to find ballet teachers that are as devoted and dependable as he is, and after the debacle of finding a replacement for this dance instructor I’m not trying to do it all over again any time soon.”

Viktor nods in understanding, taking a ballpoint pen from the cup on Krista’s desk to fill out the forms. “I promise not to be more trouble than I’m worth. And I will tell him, soon. I just…need a little time to…figure myself out, before I’m ready to tell him who I am. After all, I’m not who I once was, but I’m not sure I’m ready to explain how or why I’m here now,” he says as he fills out his contact information. Krista hums at that, and murmurs something about wanting to go check how set-up was going and that she wouldn’t be gone long so Viktor can just stay put and fill out forms.

He fills out the forms dutifully, even going so far as to double-check the phone number to the landline he has but never uses because it’s important to him that he does this right. He finishes filling out the last blank just as Krista returns, and hands the stack back to her to check over, fiddling with his bangs while she skims over his responses.

“Great! Like I said, we’ll have you in the system by the end of the week, but in the meantime if it’s no inconvenience to you I want to get you started shadowing the other instructors so you can get a feel for exactly what’s expected of you. For right now, Yuuri’s teaching a mix of beginners and intermediate students, and Tracey has a mix of intermediate and advanced students. Adrienne, the instructor you’re replacing, was the instructor for the intermediate students, but between the three of you if you guys decide that something needs to switch and you’d be a better fit with the advanced students or the beginners you can work it out. The instructors here have a lot of autonomy here, within reason of course and with the understanding that you’re doing whatever you’re doing to help the kids. Aside from that, because we really don’t pay very much, it’s up to you. You’re allowed to requisition up to $50 dollars of supplies every month, and if you do I’ll need receipts to reimburse you.” She tilts her head to the side, thinking. “That’s about all you’ll need to know for now. I’m thinking I’ll have you spend the first half with Tracey, and then at the break after the first 35 minutes you’ll go over to Yuuri’s group, so you can see where the different groups are. Follow me,” she says, heading down the hall and clearly expecting Viktor to follow.

After nearly tripping over his own feet in a not very Viktor-like move getting out of the chair, he has to jog a few steps to catch up and not lose Krista in the labyrinth of the hallways. “Just out of curiosity, what other classes do you offer here?”

“Well, we have a couple of music classes, both instruments and vocals. There’s a drama group and a studio art class, and we offer a few weekend classes for both kids and their parents on more practical things like nutrition and health, sewing, crafty type things. Those are about once a month, which have an optional payment if the family can afford to donate but if not that’s fine, it’s never anything very expensive anyhow. Why, do you have some other hidden talents?” Krista asks, cocking an eyebrow at Viktor. He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, like I said, I was just curious. I’m glad a place like this exists, giving kids with few options a better choice and more skills so they stand a better chance in the world. It’s a rough place, out there. I think I’m really going to like working here,” he muses. They come to a stop outside a set of double doors, and Krista turns to face him.

“All right, Viktor. Are you ready to walk through these doors and do something you’ve never done before?” she asks. He takes a deep breath to find his calm. “It’s not too late to say no, you know. If it’s too much all at once, because trust me, I know how overwhelming the prospect of being even partially in charge of that many kids can be, we can try this again tomorrow,” she says gently.

“No, thank you. I believe I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be,” he says with his trademark charming grin plastered on his face, his voice not betraying how nervous he actually is to be taking this first step into the real “after” of his life as a dancer. He prefers not to count the months spent moping and sulking, instead looking on this as his opportunity to reinvent himself after the accident.

Krista pushes the door open, and Viktor is confronted with one of the most terrifying sights in his entire life. There are fewer people in this room than in, for example, the Mariinsky Theatre, which if he recalls correctly can seat upwards of a thousand, but this is easily more frightening than his first opening night on that stage. He steps into the repurposed gymnasium with its worn hardwood and is greeted by the sight of about a hundred children, ranging from very very small (4? 5 years old? He doesn’t know he’s not a child studier) to very very tall (presumably teenagers, again, he’s not sure and he doesn’t remember if they’re all meant to be the same size, his own teenage years were mostly a blur of performing and fighting against his growth spurts when he had to perform with aching bones). Fortunately they’re almost all too busy running through stretches and goofing around to be overly concerned at the strange man with the silver hair frozen 3 steps into the room, a manic grin on his face as he tries not to have an existential crisis and run back the way he came. His eyes scan the room, looking for Yuuri to save him. What exactly was he thinking, taking on this kind of responsibility?

He finally spots Yuuri, talking with a youthful woman with dark skin and black hair pulled up into a bun atop her head along the back wall of the gymnasium, and remembers that _that_ is what he was thinking of when he took on the responsibility for teaching about a third of these kids. He wanted to get closer to Yuuri, and what better way of doing that than by getting involved in something Yuuri himself is so obviously passionate about? He strengthens his resolve and manages to walk at a normal pace across the floor, weaving in and out amongst the kids (his future pupils?) stretching and talking to reach Yuuri and his conversation partner.

“Hey Viktor, I guess you took on the job?” Yuuri asks, turning to smile at him brightly. Viktor thinks he might still have an existential crisis, but this time over the beauty of that smile.

“Yes, and thank you for getting me here. Krista says I’m supposed to start with shadowing you guys this week, and then she’ll see where I am with my training modules to start me with my own class.” He smiles at Yuuri, more genuine and less manic. He turns to the woman for introductions, extending his hand for a handshake. “Hi, I’m sorry for my manners, I’m Viktor.”

She smiles warmly, returning the handshake firmly. “I’m Tracey. So you’re the guy Yuuri met at the _Snow White_ performance? He’s mentioned you a few times, and from what he’s said you definitely seem to know what you’re talking about when it comes to ballet. Welcome aboard the crazy train, it’s only half as bad as it sounds I promise. I’m looking forward to working with you and to having a smaller group again,” she says, ignoring Yuuri’s complaints and frantic arm-waving at her comment about what he’s said about Viktor. _Interesting_.

“As long as he didn’t say anything too terrible about me, I’ll willingly take that title,” Viktor says with a wink. “I’m supposed to start off with you, and then shadow Yuuri for the second half. I would say take it easy one me, but where’s the fun in that?”

Tracey laughs, throwing her head back with how unrestrained her delight is. “I like this one, Yuuri. Maybe you should talk to strangers at the opera more often, if they’re all gonna be as cute and funny as he is. Come on, Viktor, let’s get these kids moving!” She pulls him away by the arm, her grip firm but not yanking him. Viktor looks back over his shoulder with a grin at Yuuri, whose face is closer and closer to resembling a tomato and who seems to have broken out into a light sweat. He doesn’t make eye contact with Viktor, trying to look literally anywhere else, but that’s okay because in less than an hour Viktor’s going to be shadowing his lessons.


	8. Chapter Eight

“So I know you’re qualified, or else Krista wouldn’t have approved your application and sent you back here with us. But do you have any experience as a teacher, or working with kids in any capacity? I’m just trying to get a feel for what I need to help you with or what areas I might need to go over with you again, not trying to put you through the third degree,” Tracey says as they walk over to the opposite wall. Viktor shakes his head, and Tracey nods to herself. “Okay, well, I want to you to mostly just pay attention to how I interact with them for now. I’ll introduce you, and then we’ll get started with the actual class. I’m sure Krista told you I’ve got a mix of intermediate and advanced students, since I was hired as the instructor for the advanced class. If you find at the end of all this that you’d rather work with the advanced students because that might be easier for you, that’s fine, I’m flexible. Just watch what I do, and don’t be afraid to speak up if you have any questions.”

Viktor knows that he’s meant to be a teacher here in this situation, but he honestly feels more like a student. He’s going to be relearning so many things that he already knows, but from an entirely different perspective, and while he’s generally proficient in lying to himself and others he thinks it might do more harm than good to try to deny that he’s a little scared. But, he reminds himself, it’s not so bad. Tracey seems very nice and energetic, and Krista seems like a benevolent yet firm supervisor, and Yuuri’s here so it’s all going to be worth it. He hopes. His internal monologue gets cut short by Tracey’s calling a group of about 50 kids together.

“Okay guys, before we get started on barre work I have someone I want to introduce you to. Everyone, this is Viktor, he’s going to be working here starting next week!” Tracey pauses for a round of semi-enthusiastic “Hi, Viktor” and he thinks he hears some mumbling about “why the hell is his hair gray when he doesn’t even look old enough to be my mom, damn these hipsters” but he chooses not to try to fight it and tell them that his hair is _platinum_ , obviously. “For now he’s just going to be shadowing me and Yuuri to see how things work around here, although he might help us out this week once he gets a little more comfortable. Now, behave yourselves, yeah I heard you Freddie, don’t sass the man about his appearance when you wanna show up with your hair looking like a family of pigeons made a nest out of it half the time. Now, if everyone’s properly stretched out let’s move over to the barre and get to work. Viktor, if you’ll stick close to me, that’ll be great.”

He’s still reeling from Tracey’s response to the girl who’d been commenting on his hair, but he follows her anyway. “Before you ask, no, we generally aren’t supposed to talk like that to the students, but Freddie’s my little cousin and her mama gave me full permission to do what I have to to keep her in line. She’s not a bad kid, she just doesn’t quite know when to stop it with the smart-mouth comments sometimes. Just giving you a heads-up if you catch me picking at her, I’m not being unnecessarily mean to the students, she’s pretty much like my little sister,” Tracey says, looking at Viktor briefly before turning her attention to the class and correcting postures.

The first half of the class passes pretty quickly, with Tracey calling out and demonstrating new positions and Viktor trailing behind her, observing how she manages to keep such a large group mostly on task with few troubles. Even her cousin, the sassy one, mostly refrains from making any more comments until right before the water break (“seriously though why’s he tryna look like he’s somebody’s granddaddy”), for which Tracey only too cheerfully pushes her lower back back into position. Viktor’s in awe not only of Tracey’s abilities as an instructor but also with the class and their flexibility and cooperation. Obviously none of them are quite at the level he himself was at their age, but he knows just from watching some of them for half an hour that these kids have the potential to do great things.

He’s almost sad when it’s time to move over to the other group, who’ve been practicing on the other side of the gym. It’s not an ideal set-up, this gym, because the two groups aren’t really using the same music or one might be moving faster than the other and it seems to Viktor like it would be really easy to get mixed up just from the noise of it all. But Tracey assured him that it’s not always like this, when they have smaller groups they actually have separate rooms elsewhere in the building that they use, but because of how things are right now with the hyper-inflated class sizes and the mixing of the groups it became a necessity to move everyone into the gym for lessons.

Yuuri doesn’t notice his approach, as he had bent down to answer a question one of the very smallest children had asked. When he does straighten up and turn around he ends up screeching and smacking Viktor in the chest in surprise, a blush coming over his face once again as his eyes widen when he realizes what he just did.

“Ow, Yuuri, I thought there was a rule against hitting?” Viktor says in a play-hurt tone, rubbing at his chest for show.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to hit you! Why were you lurking behind me so closely, you startled me! Don’t sneak up behind people like that and maybe they won’t hit you,” he says, stammering and scolding. Viktor just laughs, and is met with a frown from Yuuri.

“Don’t laugh at me! Now, we need to get going again, and I don’t need you sneaking up behind me and wasting time,” he says with a serious look on his face. “I guess you’ve already got a pretty good idea of how things go from shadowing Tracey, so I won’t say anything more about it, but please if you have any questions at any point go ahead and ask me.” He walks over to the boombox to make his introduction of Viktor and start the music for the second section of the class. Viktor tries (he really does, he promises) to pay attention to the kids and how Yuuri interacts with them, and for the most part he succeeds. He only catches himself zoning out watching Yuuri three times, and he doesn’t think anyone notices aside from one little girl who he thinks might be a little too observant for her own good.

Even the youngest of them seem to have decent form in their “across the floor” exercises, though he and Yuuri both stop to correct a couple of movements here and there. Yuuri is positively graceful in his movements, his limbs moving fluidly yet with careful control. The sleek black tights Yuuri’s wearing do nothing for Viktor’s focus or self-control, and he has to surreptitiously swipe at his own mouth to make sure he’s not visibly drooling.

By the time everyone has moved to a brief cool-down, Viktor has regained his self-control (for now) after reminding himself that _there are children present, it won’t do to have them notice you staring at Yuuri’s thighs even if you’re pretty sure he could kill a man with them, be a professional Viktor you can do this_. The kids are slowly but surely getting bored of the cool-down, and before long mild chaos reigns as a game of tag breaks out on their half of the gym, while the older kids are finishing up their class. Yuuri sighs to himself, only barely loud enough for Viktor’s ears to pick up on.

“Is this how it usually ends?” Viktor asks. He watches in mild fascination as seven or so of the littlest ones form a circle, chanting ominously. “Are they…summoning something? Should I be concerned?”

Yuuri laughs. “Some days are calmer than others, I guess, but yeah with the younger ones when we don’t have recital material to work on they get a little wild towards the end.” He moves to gather his materials, stuffing things into his backpack and taking the time to pull on sweatpants over his tights, much to Viktor’s disappointment. “They might be summoning something, I honestly don’t know. Kids are pretty strange sometimes, aren’t they? Never a dull moment with really little ones. I wouldn’t be too worried personally unless something starts glowing with internal evil, but I’ll trust you to assess the magical abilities of kindergarteners for yourself,” Yuuri says, a humorous twinkle in his eye. Viktor snorts out a laugh, caught off-guard by Yuuri’s deadpan humor.

Viktor offers to help with the clean-up, but Yuuri just shrugs him off, saying that he’ll have plenty of time to deal with clean-up himself in the future when he’s got his own class. He does however leave Viktor in charge of supervising the tag and other (possibly satanic) activities for a moment while he goes to return the boombox to the office, and so Viktor finds himself standing awkwardly in the gym when a trio of 10-year-olds approach him.

“Hi, uh, Viktor…that’s your name right?” the girl in the middle asks, the other two giggling.

“Yep, that’s me! Do you need help with something?” he asks, curious.

“We wanted to know if, um, if your hair is normally gray or if you dye it to be that color. And if it’s normal, exactly how old are you, anyway? Because _I’ve_ never seen anyone who’s not old with gray hair like that but Maya says that some people can put color in their hair to make it gray but I don’t know why anyone would do that because my mama’s always complaining and screaming and hollering every time she finds a gray hair and says it’s all my daddy’s fault for driving her crazy and leaving his dirty clothes in the floor all the time and Eliza doesn’t know what to think so we wanted to know but when we asked Yuuri he said he didn’t know and we probably shouldn’t ask but we just wanted to know and yeah.” She looks up at him breathlessly after that long, rambling sentence. The girl on her left practically falls on the floor, laughing with her entire self, and Viktor’s at a loss for words.

“Uhhhhhh…” he says, still trying to process the girl’s…question? Statement? He’s still not sure what just happened. The one girl has more or less regained her composure, and the other two are still just looking up at him, full of curiosity. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?” he asks her.

“I’m Kelsey, that’s Eliza, and this is Maya,” she says, pointing first at herself then at the girls on her right and left.

“Right, Kelsey, well, I’ll tell you about my hair. It’s naturally silver, I don’t dye or color it, it just…comes out of my head this way.” He pauses, trying to remember what else she’d asked him. “It’s always been this color, even since I was a baby, which contrary to what you might think wasn’t _that_ long ago.” The girls start giggling at him again. Wait, that’s…not what he meant to imply. “I mean, I’m not _that_ young, but I’m no old man. I’m definitely old enough to do this right, teach you guys things. I’m only 28! I’m definitely not old enough to be compared with your parents, or grandparents, or anything,” he says, losing steam as the girls just giggle harder and louder the more he protests.

“If you say so, Viktor. I’m not sure you know how old “old” is, and I’m not sure you’re not lying about your hair, but we’ll let it go…for now,” the one previously said to be Maya says between giggles. She grabs the hands of the other two, and they run away, the sound of their laughter haunting Viktor as they take off across the gym. Yuuri finds him like that, standing there with his mouth still half-open and shell-shocked, when he returns from his errand. Viktor can tell he’s having a hard time not laughing at him as he explains what just occurred, as he turns his back so Viktor can’t see what’s presumably a grin on his face.

“I tried to discourage them from asking you that, but I guess that’s why they waited until I left the room to bother you. I’m sorry if they were rude, and I’m also sorry I can’t not laugh because you honestly should have seen your face when I walked in, it was priceless,” he says, finally giving in to his own laughter.

“Ahh, Yuuri, that hurts! I didn’t take you to be the type to enjoy schadenfreude so much,” Viktor pouts, giving Yuuri his trademark puppy dog eyes. This has the opposite of the desired effect, as Yuuri takes one look at him and just laughs harder. Viktor legitimately can’t decide if he should be sad that his Yuuri ( _when did he start thinking of him as_ his _Yuuri? That can’t mean anything good_ ) is laughing at his pain and suffering or if he should be pleased at being the source of his laughter and how he’s no longer as nervous about occupying the same space as Viktor. Their arms are touching, since Viktor moved closer so that they stand side by side, and Viktor can feel the warmth Yuuri exudes through their sleeves.

“Awww, Yuuri, are you being mean to the new hire? Don’t scare him off, now,” comes Tracey’s playful scolding from behind them. They both startle a bit and turn to face her, Yuuri seemingly unconsciously moving away from Viktor now that they have an audience. He’s stammering sheepishly, blushing yet again, trying to explain himself. Viktor knows he’s staring at him, he knows he probably should _stop staring at him like that_ , but he can’t quite bring himself to tear his eyes away yet. When he does finally look up from Yuuri’s adorably pinked cheeks, he catches Tracey giving him an entirely too smug and knowing look, and she’s laughing at both of them now. He pointedly looks away, a blush of his own coloring his cheeks.

“He’s being so mean to me, Tracey. So heartless, our Yuuri. The children were poking fun at my hair, and now Yuuri’s laughing at me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever recover from these brutal stabs at my ego,” Viktor moans, flinging an arm across his face dramatically. Tracey keeps snickering at his antics, while Yuuri frantically tries to apologize, flapping his arms rather ineffectually. “I may have to move back to Russia and change my name, shave my head and live alone in the freezing cold of Siberia, Yuuri. Don’t you know how sensitive I am? I can’t go on this way, no one respects me and my hair. Have you no mercy, Yuuri?”

A voice chimes in from a little higher than Viktor’s waist. “No, Yuuri doesn’t have mercy. He’s such a mean, strict instructor, all the time. He always works us so hard, like Cinderella’s evil stepmother.” The adults all look down to find a little boy with the most serious look on his face. He then turns to look at Yuuri, a firm frown on his face. “Yuuri, don’t hurt Viktor’s feelings. I _like_ his hair, even if it _is_ kinda weird.” Then he turns to Viktor, ignoring the look on Yuuri’s face like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or what to do. “Viktor, don’t listen to mean Yuuri. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about and I know that _I_ think you’re the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, like Jack Frost from _Rise of the Guardians_. That’s my favorite movie!” The little boy looks over his shoulder, then back at Viktor, who’s gobsmacked again, but this time in the good way. “I gotta go, but I just wanted to tell you that. Bye!”

Once the little boy has taken off out of sight, the three adults look at each other in varying states of confusion, amusement, and disbelief before eventually dissolving into uncontrollable laughter. Viktor’s the first to recover enough to speak.

“Well, Yuuri, he really told you. Also, I have no idea what _Rise of the Guardians_ is, but now I feel like I need to see it, because while I appreciate the compliment, I don’t fully understand it,” he says, running his fingers through his bangs.

“Yuuri just got owned by a five year old, it’s fine, nothing new there,” Tracey says over Yuuri’s indignant sputtering. “Corey made you sound like a tyrant though, what are you doing to those poor children when I’m not watching?” she jokes.

“I’m not doing anything! He just doesn’t like having to do a cool-down, but that’s just because he doesn’t understand how important stretching is to make sure you don’t hurt later. I’m sure he’ll figure it out by the time he’s our age, and not cooling down has consequences,” Yuuri protests between his hands, which are covering his face.

“Come on then, y’all. Let’s finish cleaning up and do a quick sweep of the hallway to make sure we don’t have any stragglers hanging out in the building, and then we can get out of here,” Tracey says, moving to pick up her tote bag. Viktor and Yuuri finish their tidying up and grab their stuff to head out, Tracey locking the door to the gym behind them. Viktor follows Yuuri through the halls, checking to be sure that everyone had headed outside, before they head back to the office.

Krista waves them in, moving out from behind her desk. “So, how was it?” she asks Viktor.

“It was good. I admit, I was a little nervous at first, but by the end of it, it seemed a lot less scary and a lot more like something I’m going to have a lot of fun doing once I get the hang of it,” he says, aiming for honesty.

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re getting used to things. Our kids can be characters sometimes, and they might give you a hard time every now and again, but like I told you earlier they’re such good and talented kids,” Krista says. Viktor and Yuuri grin at each other at that, earning a curious look from Krista, who laughs when they tell her about the various things that went on in class.

“So, I’ll be back…tomorrow?” Viktor asks. Krista nods, and sends them on their way. He and Yuuri walk back to the car in an amicable silence, putting their stuff back in the backseat of the car and settling into their seats. Viktor winces as he has to bend down to get into the car, hoping that Yuuri doesn’t notice that he’s in pain.

“Oh, if you need to scoot the seat back, go for it. The last person to ride there was a fair bit shorter than you, so if it’s not enough space don’t be afraid to move it. I’m sorry for not noticing earlier that you were uncomfortable,” Yuuri says, telling Viktor that while his pain wasn’t unnoticed it was misinterpreted, for which he’s thankful. He’s not ready to have to explain his knee to Yuuri, he only barely told Krista what she needed to know to decide whether or not to hire him. He does move the seat back, letting out a sigh of relief.

Most of the trip back to Viktor’s apartment is filled with idle chatter, asking about Phichit’s dance company and their upcoming projects, and Yuuri complaining mildly but forgivingly about something strange the administration is trying to do with the exam schedule this quarter, and Viktor listening but not contributing or interrupting. They’re both a bit surprised when they pull up outside Viktor’s apartment building, Yuuri leaving off at an odd spot mid-sentence.

“Oh, I guess we’re here already. I didn’t realize. Um, so I guess if you need a ride tomorrow, I can be here at the same time in the afternoon?” he asks, looking at Viktor for the first time since he started driving.

Viktor nods. “That would be wonderful, if it’s not too much trouble for you to come this way to get me.” Yuuri assures him that it’s no trouble at all, and helps him fish his bag out of the back of the car. He stays outside the building until he’s sure Viktor’s made it safely inside, then pulls off with a wave. Viktor stays at the door, looking out on the street for a few seconds longer than he could see Yuuri’s car, and heads back upstairs to fetch Makkachin for their evening walk before he starts preparing his dinner.

While Makkachin stops to sniff at a curious trash can, he types out a message to Yuuri on his phone. _thanks for giving me a ride, and for helping me find this job! i’m really looking forward to coming back tomorrow, and working with these kids in the future :))))_ He presses send before he has the chance to second-guess himself.

His phone buzzes again while he’s waiting for his soup to heat up on the stove. _It’s no problem, and I’m glad you’re enjoying it! I’ll see you tomorrow._ A lazy grin spreads over his face, and he settles in for a quiet night of soup and Netflix with Makkachin on the couch. When he finally goes to bed, he feels easily the most content he’s felt in a long while.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

“I think this is the most appointments in a row you’ve kept, which is both good and a little depressing considering that number is only 3 right now,” Anna notes, giving Viktor side-eye from where she’s writing something on his chart again. Viktor pretends not to notice, trying to keep his form correct to finish this set of straight leg raises. He’s kept all his appointments since he first went in to shadow Yuuri and Tracey, and while that (as Anna says) isn’t _that_ spectacular an achievement, he still allows himself a moment to feel proud of himself.

It’s not every day that something catches his attention and keeps it like Yuuri has, and since he’s too chicken to try to ask him out like he wants to do more and more each time he sees him, he’s willing to actually be a responsible adult and go to his PT sessions. Doing better in therapy means he has a slightly better range of motions that don’t make him want to scream his head off in agony, which means that he can actually perform his job as a dance instructor. This week is set to be his first week alone with his own class, having had a week of shadowing followed by a week of having about half a class with Krista supervising him and giving pointers on how to manage his pupils. Yuuri’s still very shy, and so Viktor thinks it might be better to attempt to finesse his way into Yuuri’s life slowly with small steps, building a friendship as opposed to simply launching himself into the other man’s arms and begging him to come home with him. He needs to keep this job as a dance instructor to be able to pull that off, and so…leg raises, abductions and quad exercises.

“Yes, well, what can I say. I’ve turned over a new leaf, I’m becoming a new me. A me that just so happens to love going to physical therapy sessions and hanging out with you, even though you’re so cruel to me sometimes,” he murmurs as he finishes the set.

“Seriously though, I can tell you’ve actually been doing the exercises at home as well as working on the stuff I give you to do here. I don’t know what’s changed in your life, but I’m glad that you seem like you’re not just letting life happen to you anymore.” She looks at him directly now. “I was starting to wonder if maybe I ought to suggest you see another therapist on top of seeing me, to help with the psychological damage from the accident. Not that that wouldn’t still be a good idea, mind you, but from what I can see of you it looks like you’re doing better healing both your body and your mind.”

Viktor shudders a little. He had, briefly, gone to see a psychologist in the more immediate aftermath of the accident. The man had wanted to ask him all kinds of questions he wasn’t ready to answer, and had seemed to imply that Viktor maybe shouldn’t be as angry and upset as he was at the whole thing, which was bullshit. Also, he smelled strongly of Doritos and cat piss, which was not by any means a pleasant smell, and had been the final straw for Viktor. Being talked down to by a man who smelled like what Viktor imagines the basement of an elderly lady with a 38 year old video game obsessed son who never moved out and 5 cats would smell like was simply too much for him. He still hasn’t actually done the work to find a replacement for that guy, even though Yakov keeps prodding at him about it via text message and voicemail.

“Ah, yes. You see, I’ve made some new friends who have helped me find things worth doing now that I can’t be the principal dancer I once was. I actually work teaching ballet now with one of those friends, and if I want to do that I need to be able to demonstrate the movements I’m trying to teach my pupils. A task made somewhat more difficult by this injury of mine, but then again I always have loved a challenge,” he responds.

“Hmm. That does make sense. I’ll have to admit that I don’t know that much about ballet and its mechanics, but I can ask around and see if there are any recommended physical therapy exercises that might help you out more specifically if you’d be interested? I hadn’t thought too much about it before, because it’s pretty much been a given that you’d be lucky to get back to walking more or less normally, and I didn’t want to dump any more salt in your metaphorical wounds,” Anna says to him while correcting his form for the abductions.

“That would be wonderful, actually, thank you. I don’t know if such a thing exists, but I appreciate that offer nonetheless,” Viktor says. “Again, I know I’m far from being the ideal patient, but I want to tell you that I appreciate all the help you’ve given me, even when I would barely look you in the eye. I was taking out my emotions on you and being generally very immature, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Raising her eyebrows at him, Anna laughs a little. “I’m glad you recognize you were being a bit of a baby about the whole thing. And like I said, I’m just glad you’re in a better place so as to be able to recognize when you’re behaving like a toddler and apologize for it.” The rest of the session goes by fairly quickly, Anna prodding Viktor in between his shoulder blades when he gets too distracted by his phone and stops moving his leg. Viktor leaves with the usual reminder not to do anything too stupid and re-injure himself, and to keep up his exercises at home.

He’s settled into a comfortable routine these last couple of weeks. After he finishes up with physical therapy he goes home for lunch, taking Makkachin out for a quick walk just to make sure there aren’t any accidents inside the apartment when he gets back. It’s usually an unnecessary precaution, but there have been 2 occasions where he and Yuuri met up with Phichit for a coffee or smoothie after they finished up with lessons, and Viktor doesn’t want to take any chances he doesn’t have to. He would absolutely hate to have to say no to hanging out with Yuuri and Phichit outside of the dance studio or text messages, but also he values the floors of his apartment and his furniture, and while Makkachin has always been a good dog, one never knows when a good dog is going to decide that enough is enough.

As he makes his lunch he takes a moment to reflect. While Yuuri is definitely still the main reason he wants to teach, the kids have definitely grown on him. As he observed during his adjustment period, some of them really have potential to be really good dancers if they just receive the right instruction and opportunities. It’s not just that, either. Some of the kids do have minor behavioral issues at times, which is to be expected of any kids, but they’re generally speaking a delight to work with and downright hilarious. (Viktor also can’t lie to himself here, he holds a special spot in his heart for the handful of kids who have commented on how cool his hair is, he doesn’t care how vain that makes him.) Working with Yuuri and Tracey is fun and the working relationship they have together is a wonderful change of pace from the cutthroat world of professional dancing to which he had become accustomed. He doesn’t feel the need to constantly hide things from them (aside from his little crush, of course) or fear that they might wish him ill just to get his position. It’s a very supportive environment and they trade stories about what silly things the kids have said or done, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to Viktor. Maybe it doesn’t have all the adrenalin or prestige of performing on the world’s stage in front of some of the planet’s wealthiest and most important people. He finds that he doesn’t miss all that as acutely as he did even 2 months ago.

Tracey tells him that in a few weeks they’re going to start teaching the kids what they’ll need to know for the recital down the road, which means that Viktor needs to start planning choreography and costumes around the theme. Costumes can’t be anything too complicated, again because of budget issues, but potentially they can buy some materials at a reduced price from local theater or dance groups if need be. He’s excited, because while he does still have to work within a theme, he has a higher degree of creative control in this than he’s had for quite some time. Speaking of a theme, he’s been trying to weasel it out of Yuuri (who already knows somehow because _of course he does_ ), all to no avail. Viktor is fully planning how he’s going to try to trick Yuuri into telling him the theme today on their ride to the afterschool center. So far, he’s tried tickling, he’s tried bribing Yuuri with his favorite American candy (which he’s discovered is a Milky Way bar, and isn’t that just perfect), he’s tried asking nicely, he’s tried the puppy dog eyes (which only got him laughed at again), and he’s running out of options. He eats while he ponders his next move, Makkachin snoozing at his feet.

As he finishes eating, a rather unwelcome thought that’s been pestering him more and more often these last few weeks makes yet another appearance. It’s in these moments that he likes to imagine a little angel Viktor and a little devil Viktor on each of his shoulders. The little angel Viktor says “You really should tell Yuuri who you are soon, you know. The longer you wait, the more likely it is that he’ll never forgive you when he finds out the truth.” But then the little devil Viktor chimes in with something like “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you can wait a little bit longer while you get to know him.” So far little devil Viktor has had a more convincing argument, but deep down Viktor knows this can’t go on for much longer. As the days go by, he feels more and more like he might actually be able to fall in love properly with Yuuri, not just into infatuation (or directly into bed, as he has all too often done in the past when he was bored and lonely on the road). He’s excited to see where things go, and hopeful that maybe the little glances he catches Yuuri sneaking at him when he thinks Viktor’s not looking might mean that Yuuri feels at least a little bit the same.

Viktor sighs heavily, letting his shoulders drop from the tension they had accidentally held the more he thought of the tricky situation he was in. This week, he’d tell Yuuri for sure. Krista was starting to not-so-subtly hint that he needed to “handle his business” as well, and he doesn’t particularly want to be on his boss’s shit list, as he’s quite sure Krista wasn’t messing with him earlier when she warned him against messing with Yuuri. Checking his phone, he sees that it’s time to grab his bag and head down to wait for Yuuri outside. It’s not as miserably cold outside now as it was a few weeks ago, when Christophe came to visit, so he doesn’t mind spending a little while outside (plus it gives him extra time to do the stairs out front, necessary if he doesn’t want to tell Yuuri about his knee issues).

He’s not standing outside for long when the familiar sketchy Toyota pulls up to the curb in front of his stoop. He joins Yuuri in the front, tossing his bag in the back as usual, and notices that the seat’s already been adjusted for him today.

“Hello, Yuuri! How are you doing today? It’s getting warmer, and I daresay I’m ready for spring. Detroit in winter isn’t my idea of delightful, and I’m a Russian!” he says as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Hi Viktor, I’m doing okay I guess. I’m enjoying working on the choreography for my class for this upcoming recital, but it’s going to be a little challenging I think to come up with certain elements that will challenge my class without being impossibly difficult. I’m looking forward to it though, and I’m also looking forward to spring. As much as winter can be nice, especially in response to the heat of summer, I think I’m also ready to thaw out a little,” Yuuri responds, eyes on the road but a soft smile on his face that makes Viktor’s palms a little sweaty. _I’ve only known him for a few weeks and yet I’m already so…smitten._

“So…is today going to be the day you tell me what the theme of the recital is?” Viktor asks, a sneaky little grin on his face as he strokes a finger down Yuuri’s arm. Yuuri just laughs at him and bats his hand away.

“No, Viktor, today is not going to be the day I tell you what the theme is. Krista only told me early because she knows I get a little nervous about wanting to give my kids the best material I can come up with and she wanted me to worry less. We can’t all be as confident and self-assured as you,” he responds, glancing over at Viktor as they roll up to a red light. _Ah, if he only knew the half of it_ , Viktor thinks to himself. In all honesty, it’s been a while since Viktor actually felt anything resembling confident, but he’s quite good at faking it.

Viktor tries to plead with Yuuri on the issue a few more times on the way to the afterschool center, but Yuuri evades all his trickery and remains unmoved by his begging. When they get out of the car and are walking towards the building, he pats Viktor on the shoulder and shakes his head. “I promise you will find out by the end of this week what the theme is. In fact, Krista might be coming around to make the announcement this afternoon, but don’t quote me on that. Turn that frown upside down!” He immediately blushes at his last comment and covers his face, groaning. “Please forget I said that, I’ve been spending too much time around small children instead of people my own age and I know not what I say!” Viktor is powerless in the face of how funny and adorable that was, and walks off to ready his classroom feeling slightly better about his continued failure at cracking Yuuri’s determination to keep the theme a secret.

He’s a little nervous, but nowhere near as nervous as he was his first day shadowing. It _is_ his first day of unsupervised teaching, it only makes sense that he might be nervous about it. He spends the time waiting for his students to arrive fluttering around making sure the boombox is ideally arranged for acoustic purposes and that his duffel bag isn’t going to be in the way. He runs through a list of things in his head that he wants to practice with the class today, and hopes that his knee will be willing to cooperate instead of trying to fight him like it sometimes wants to do. None of the kids have ever called him out on it, but he’s sure the “old man” jokes are imminent. Between his hair and the knee, it’s only a matter of time.

Soon the room is filled with the chatter and laughter of his students, and he allows them a few minutes to get the worst of it out of their systems before he calls them to attention and starts the music. He walks calmly up and down the rows, making minor adjustments to posture and calling out positions during the warm-up. The lesson all in all goes smoothly, proceeding from warm-up into practicing familiar material and across the floor exercises, and introducing something slightly more complicated after the water break. At one point he does see Krista outside the window, who gives him a thumbs up before moving on to presumably make her rounds elsewhere. He has a somewhat easier time getting his class to successfully finish their cool-down than Yuuri does with the beginner group, but he thinks that may be because he suggested that if they don’t cool down they’ll end up “old” like him a lot sooner than they want to (ugh).

He’s making sure that his classroom is cleaned up and no one left anything behind when Tracey and Yuuri walk up to his door. “Hey, Viktor, how’d it go?” Tracey asks. “Did they eat you alive, or did you keep them in line?”

He turns off the light and begins to walk down the hall towards the office as he answers. “I think it went well. I didn’t get eaten, as you can see by the fact that I’m still here in one piece. It was no military dictatorship, but it went about as smoothly as I could have asked for I think.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get eaten alive. We’ll see how things go tomorrow when Freddie’s back, she wasn’t here today because she had a doctor’s appointment. You know how much she just looooooves having you as her instructor,” Tracey teases him. Viktor can only groan, and Yuuri openly laughs at his suffering. So cruel, his Yuuri.

“So Viktor, to celebrate your first day of solo instruction, Phichit and I were thinking you might want to go out somewhere and celebrate. Nothing too crazy, of course, but we did hear of this interesting new bakery that’s opened up not too far from our apartment and it sounded like something you might like. Um, assuming you don’t have other plans?” Yuuri says, mildly doubtful by the end of his sentence. His uncertainty is endearing, a trait that Viktor can honestly say he’s never really found attractive before, but then this isn’t just anyone, this is Yuuri.

“Of course, I’d love to go! I love going places and doing things with you, both of you, really. And you should know by now I don’t often have other plans. If it weren’t for you and Phichit, I’d probably be the most boring man alive,” he answers, fluttering his eyelashes in what he hopes is a seductive fashion but honestly might come off more as though he has something in his eyes. Judging by the flush of Yuuri’s cheeks and the way he looks away from Viktor, however, he’s willing to bet that Yuuri is either affected or embarrassed for Viktor. Viktor is, naturally, hoping for the former.

“No need to be so enthusiastic, geez. Let’s get going then, I’ll text Phichit and have him meet us there,” Yuuri says, already tapping away at his phone as they head for the door. Viktor feels good, really good, for the first time in months. They chuck their stuff in the trunk so as to reduce the chances of the car getting broken into while they hang out, and set off for their destination.

As soon as they arrive, Viktor can see exactly why Yuuri thought he’d like the place. It’s a small bakery done up in the style of a Russian bakery he might find in St. Petersburg itself, tucked away in an alley and hidden from the march towards modernity. It’s a cozy little place, there are only about 4 tables with 2 or 3 chairs apiece. Phichit is already there when they arrive, as they got stuck behind a truck that had gotten stuck trying to pass under a bridge that was too short for clearance. They join him at the table and immediately begin to peruse the menu, Viktor sighing at the prospect of having some proper Russian tea and pastries for the first time since before the accident. Possibly the first time in years, really, when he thinks about it, because as a principal dancer his diet didn’t exactly permit the kind of caloric frivolity pastries embody.

And that is, of course, the moment everything had to blow up in his face. Apparently this establishment is staffed by authentic Russian staff, and Russian staff who happen to care rather a lot about the Mariinsky ballet and what happened to its former crown jewel, Viktor Nikiforov at that. Viktor watches it all happen as if in slow motion, the recognition on the face of the waitress, her mouth forming the syllables of his full name, patronymic and all. He sees the moment Yuuri and Phichit realize who he is, the confusion followed by the disbelief, followed by the anger in Yuuri’s eyes and the sheer curiosity on Phichit’s face. He watches as Yuuri shoves his chair back from the table and literally sprints outside, trying to get as far away from Viktor as quickly as is physically possible. Viktor feels frozen in place, like even if he knew what to do in this situation he wouldn’t be able to move to do whatever that thing is.

Phichit’s voice breaks his reverie. “Viktor Nikiforov? As in, _the_ Viktor Nikiforov, former principal dancer of the Mariinsky ballet? As in the same Viktor Nikiforov who sold out shows across all the continents that have a stage? As in the same Viktor Nikiforov that Yuuri’s had an undying crush on since he was old enough to know what a crush was? As in—”

“Yes, yes, I’m _that_ Viktor Nikiforov,” Viktor practically spits, once he regains his ability to think and speak and move. Too late, of course, to run after Yuuri to try to explain himself. He’s probably already gone, and taken Viktor’s stuff with him. _Блядь_! “I didn’t mean for him to find out like this, I was going to tell him myself when I’d had time to prepare him for it because I didn’t want him to be upset, and now…” he trails off, dejectedly. “Now I don’t know if he’ll ever speak to me again, and if he doesn’t I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I mean, this _is_ a lot to take in. You mean we’ve been hanging out with a world-famous ballet dancer for _weeks_ and didn’t know it? What I don’t get is how Yuuri didn’t know it was you straight off the bat, I guess,” Phichit muses, sounding not nearly as mad as Viktor was expecting considering he’d been deceived as well. “Why _didn’t_ you tell him the truth, anyways?”

“I…was afraid something like this would happen. When neither of you recognized me at the ballet that night I met you both, I thought it was too good to be true. And maybe it was. A couple of men who happened to be well-educated on ballet, yet who somehow didn’t recognize me? Not to brag, but that’s nearly impossible. At first I thought nothing would come of all this, but then you guys became my only friends in Detroit, the only thing keeping me from going insane.” Viktor runs a hand through his hair in frustration, and idly notices that their very apologetic waitress has disappeared back into the back of the shop. “As I’m sure you can guess, something happened to me that caused me to leave my former life behind, and I found myself stuck here. Having you two as friends is what has saved me from wasting away into nothing, and Yuuri in particular has been responsible for so much good in my life in the last weeks. I didn’t plan to make friends here, and certainly not with someone as wonderful as Yuuri. I never thought someone as wonderful as him would want to be friends with someone as sad and miserable and angry as I’ve been these last months, so I’ve been trying to make myself better for him. And now I think everything may have just been irreparably fucked up, which is a damn shame really because I think I’m completely and totally smitten with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find a way back to my apartment, where I will simply hope the ground swallows me whole, as I’m quite sure I have nothing left to hope for.” Viktor exits, leaving behind a stunned and gape-mouthed Phichit to try to sort through all that has happened in the last fifteen minutes.


	10. Chapter Ten

So maybe he’s gone a little overboard with the whole trying to apologize thing. No one has ever accused Viktor Nikiforov of doing things by halves, however, so he figures that’s to be expected. It’s been about four hours since everything went to hell in a handbasket, and Viktor has tried to call or text Yuuri no fewer than twenty times. He thinks Yuuri’s probably turned his phone off, because he gets sent straight to voicemail every time. At first, he was super out of breath and jittery because he’d just gotten home and was in immense pain because he’d taken the stairs out of some kind of masochistic need to self-punish for fucking everything up, and he’s sure that came across in the voicemails he left. Now he’s sure he just sounds desperate and nearly in tears. Probably because he is crying, but he’s trying very hard not to sound like he’s crying because while he admits that he’s the lowest of the low for lying to someone as precious as Yuuri like this he still doesn’t want to pressure him or guilt him into forgiving just because Viktor sounds pitiful.

He sinks further into the couch, a whimpering Makkachin trying to crawl into his lap and offer comfort. Makka’s always been very emotionally intuitive, and hates it when he cries, and as such tries to lick his face until he stops leaking from the eyes. Usually, it works, but tonight Viktor’s considerably more upset than he’s been lately, and it’s that horrible angry cry that he does where his face doesn’t even look properly sad but his eyes won’t stop leaking and he’s just so angry with himself. He’s so angry for messing this up. He had so many warnings and admonitions and he failed to listen to every single one. Hell, even his physical therapist had tried to tell him he was setting himself up for problems, and he let it happen anyway.

_You’re really no good for anything anymore, are you? You were fine when you were dancing, but now you can’t do that. What’s the point in continuing this way? Now that you’ve ruined everything with Yuuri, you’ve probably messed up your chances working at the afterschool center too, what with all that Krista said about not messing up with Yuuri. She’ll do anything to protect him from a fuck-up like you, which means you might as well just call her now to tell her you’ve decided the best thing would be to move to Idaho and let everyone forget you exist once and for all._

Vodka. That’s what this moment calls for. Vodka, and lots of it. Startling Makkachin, who lands on the rug with a whine, Viktor gets up to limp to the kitchen, steadying himself on the furniture he passes on the way. He eventually finds the last bottle of vodka in his apartment stuffed in the back of the freezer, some kind of lychee-flavored monstrosity. He’s pretty sure Christophe left it behind unintentionally last time he visited, he loves fun little cocktail drinks. Not that Viktor doesn’t, of course, only vodka is one thing that he tends to prefer in its natural state because he _is_ Russian, after all. Swigging directly from the bottle, he makes his way slowly from the kitchen to his bedroom, bringing his tablet with him. Tonight is for vodka, wallowing in self-pity, and watching his old performance videos on YouTube again. He’s quite sure he hasn’t been this pitiful in at least a month. Makkachin pads alongside him, giving him the sort of reproachful look only a poodle entirely too familiar with its owner’s self-destructive habits can.

“I don’t need this from you, Makkachin,” Viktor mumbles to his dog as he allows himself to fall haphazardly onto the mattress, holding his bottle aloft to stabilize it. He’s just about got himself settled on the bed and the playlist of his last performance in London queued up when his phone starts ringing, an unidentified number flashing across the screen. He blinks at it slowly in confusion before curiosity gets the better of him and he answers it. “Hello?”

The other end of the line is silent at first, and he’s not sure anyone’s even on the other end of the line until he finally hears a cough and the sound of fabric rustling as though whoever’s calling him is shifting about nervously. He’s growing impatient, about to hang up, when finally: “Uh, Viktor? It’s Yuri.” Viktor closes his eyes against the sound of the young man’s voice, because of fucking course it is. He’s only ever around for the worst moments of Viktor’s life, so why _wouldn’t_ it be him right now.

“Hello, Yura. It’s been a while,” Viktor responds in his coolly polite “publicity voice”. “I certainly hope you’re not calling to ask me to come back and choreograph a solo for you, you know I’m hardly in shape to do that these days.”

A derisive snort from the other end of the line, covering up what sounds suspiciously like a gasp. “You know what, fuck you old man. I was only trying to reach out because Yakov told me how you’ve been doing, but if that’s how it’s going to be you can go right to hell and take your shitty choreography with you. I don’t need this when I was thinking maybe I’d be nice to you for once.”

Viktor lets out a hollow laugh. “I think you’ve done quite enough, thanks. And Yakov needs to mind his own business instead of going around talking about me to people. No wonder he’s losing all his hair, if he’s so busy worrying over everyone and everything that used to matter.” The line goes dead before he’s finished making his remarks, but that’s okay. It’s been months since the last time he talked to Yuri Plisetsky, and Viktor is quite sure he can go the rest his lifetime without input or pity from that brat. He used to find the kid and his antagonistic personality amusing, but that time may as well be in the _Star Wars_ series for all that it feels like “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away”.

He drinks another long gulp of the sickly sweet vodka, wrinkling his nose at it faintly before pressing play on the playlist. It’s both impossible and entirely too possible to judge how long he spends like that, and it’s only when he’s drunk half the bottle of vodka that his mind finally stops racing enough for him to sleep at last. Unfortunately for him, being asleep doesn’t mean that he’s free from his subconscious and its issues. He’s dragged from one alcohol-tinged nightmare to the next, starting off with the obvious and reliving the accident that caused his knee injury and dreaming of Yuuri spitting in his face and going as far back as the recurring nightmare he used to have as a child, wherein his ballet instructor’s moustache became sentient and chased him through the streets of Saint Petersburg.

Viktor wakes up in the morning with a heinous headache and a lurching stomach, and has to rush to the bathroom to be ill as the smell of the lychee vodka from where the bottle had finally tipped over onto the bed while he was sleeping hits him full-on. He heaves violently for a while, dry-heaving long after his stomach is completely and totally empty, before curling up into a ball of misery on the cool tiles of his bathroom. Not even Makkachin has come to nose at his prone form, presumably showing displeasure at Viktor’s sad state. _Abandoned by even your dog, how pathetic you are_ , Viktor thinks to himself. He stays down for a while longer before deciding that he should probably go walk his traitor dog, assuming his body will cooperate after the beating it’s taken in the last 24 hours. Things he didn’t even know could crack make noises like a bowl of Rice Krispies as he hauls himself to his feet to rinse his mouth out in the sink.

It’s not until he’s hobbled his way out of his apartment and halfway to Whole Foods until he realizes: he’s still got to get to the afterschool center somehow. Krista doesn’t know how badly Viktor has fucked up, and will be expecting him to show up and teach his class like he hasn’t just ruined everything for everyone. How is he even supposed to get there from his apartment? He doesn’t know anything about the bus system around Detroit. He supposes he could take a taxi there and back, but then there’s still the “Yuuri probably hates his guts” factor. He doesn’t want to make Yuuri any more uncomfortable than he undoubtedly already has, and this whole thing was Yuuri’s thing before Viktor decided to insert himself into Yuuri’s life. His stomach twists up on itself like he might start dry-heaving again here in the middle of the sidewalk, but he manages to push that feeling back down. Somehow he’s already at Whole Foods, the walk taking no time at all even limping as badly as he is today. He supposes getting lost in thought can do that. Standing in the middle of the produce section, he pulls out his phone to call Phichit. He doesn’t pick up, but he tells him to tell Yuuri not to worry about him going to the program today. He then calls Krista to let her know that he won’t be coming in because his body isn’t cooperating, and adds on a sad little “sorry” and he’s not really sure what exactly he’s apologizing for at this point. Everything, probably.

The cashier is now glaring daggers at him, because having phone conversations in the check-out is rude when it’s your turn to pay. Viktor scolds himself internally and hands over his card so that he can get out of the poor woman’s line and out of the store before he bungles anything else. Shifting his reusable tote bags (because yes, even when his personal life has gone to shit he still feels like the planet deserves better than plastic bags) to accommodate for the leash as he and Makka make their way back home, he looks up at the sky. As his luck would have it, it looks like the sky may open up at any minute. _Ah, yes, perfect ambience for today._ He doesn’t adjust his pace, partially because he feels like he deserves this, partially because he could probably use the rinsing off, and partially because he’s sure if he tried to make his body move any faster than what he’s currently doing he might collapse in a pile of limbs on the sidewalk.

The rest of the day is no more auspicious than its start. Yuuri doesn’t call him back, and Phichit just texts him a thumbs-up so he knows he got the voicemail. Krista hasn’t called him back either, but she’s probably busy trying to figure out how to work around the mess Viktor has made by not being there today and by messing up with Yuuri. While Viktor didn’t get rained on while walking back from the store with Makkachin, he did get absolutely soaked on his way to the laundromat down the street (his sheets being vodka-soaked and him not actually knowing where his spare set have vanished off to was a problem that needed resolution). He’s now feeling properly sniffly and sorry for himself, if he wasn’t before, and he loses a couple hours of the day to staring despondently out the window at around the time he was supposed to go to teach his class. It’s not until nearly bedtime that he finally snaps himself partially out of his funk.

Looking down at Makkachin he makes a declaration. “Makka, tomorrow I am going to catch a taxi or something to the afterschool center and talk things out with Krista. Then I can at least know if I’ve completely disgraced myself, and how to move forward from there. I refuse to just sit and waste away in this apartment. And maybe I _should_ revisit the idea of talking things through with a therapist. If the events of the last 36 hours are any indication of how I’m coping with things, I need someone to talk things through with so that I can stop ruining everything for myself and for others. Also, I think you might benefit too, because then you won’t have to listen to me talking to myself at all hours of the day. Isn’t that right, Makkachin?” Makkachin barks and licks Viktor’s hand, tail wagging madly. Viktor sighs, and decides to watch just one more hour of old performances before calling it a night. He’s probably got a very unpleasant day ahead, after all.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The next morning is just as gray and rainy as the day before it had been, which is what makes it so difficult for Viktor to get out of bed. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself when he doesn’t manage to be upright before 10 o’clock. He does eventually manage to separate himself from his mattress, however, and go heat up some instant oatmeal because that’s all he’s really feeling up to. He putters about his apartment, procrastinating making that call to the therapist Anna had recommended him because even if he knows it’s for his own good he still doesn’t really like to admit that he needs this kind of help. Finally, after changing his outfit about seven different times and washing all the dirty dishes that had been gathering in the sink and picking up all his clothes off the floor, he manages to call and schedule an appointment for the following Monday. If the professionalism of the receptionist of this therapist is anything to go from, things are already looking better than condescending cat-piss-and-doritos man. Viktor shudders to himself at the memory of that stench. Now he’s just waiting for the taxi he called to arrive, so he can go face his doom. He called Krista in advance to tell her he was coming in early to talk, and while she didn’t tell him to fuck straight off to Idaho he could hear in her voice that he was in trouble.

Eventually the taxi comes, and the whole drive Viktor is pretty deeply in his own head, thinking about what he could have done differently and how he might apologize to Krista for doing the exact thing she told him not to do and potentially causing her a whole new world of problems. If Krista is in a particularly forgiving mood ( _or if you’ve pushed her into enough of a corner that it’d be more trouble to fire and replace you than to keep you around_ he thinks to himself, darkly) he might walk out of her office with his job. He’s not sure yet what he’ll do if she does tell him to move to Idaho, but he’s at least mildly confident at this point that his knee-jerk reaction won’t be to give up on being alive altogether, which is an improvement over yesterday and the day before that. He knows he can get dramatic sometimes, but he’s trying to control when Drama King Viktor gets to make the decisions as opposed to Normal (Yet Still Mildly Dramatic) Viktor is piloting the vehicle. Lately the latter has been retaking control of the wheel, but it’s not an easy process. Especially given how in his former career, it made more sense to let his most dramatic side loose almost permanently. He’s learning that off the stage, that kind of behavior just gets you weird looks and a banning from the library for sobbing too loudly over the public-use computers one time too many.

Paying the taxi driver, he steps out of the vehicle and sees that he’s somehow managed to beat Krista to the center. He’s stuck standing outside waiting for her to unchain the doors for about ten more minutes, none of which does he use very productively. She does arrive though, and she walks off briskly down the hall towards her office without saying anything, leaving Viktor struggling to keep up and with the sinking feeling that he’s about to be verbally beheaded. He follows her into the office and takes the seat she points at, watching her as she walks around to sit behind her desk.

“So. You said you wanted to talk to me. You’d better go ahead and spit it out, I don’t have all day,” Krista says to him, already looking deeply unimpressed.

Viktor takes a deep breath before opening his mouth to speak. “Krista, I want to apologize. I didn’t handle my personal business, and that has since carried over and affected my professional business and the lives of others negatively as a result. I specifically did one of the things you told me at the outset not to do, and I have no doubt that I have caused you problems as a result.”

“While it’s nice that you want to apologize to me for what you did, I feel like you’re kind of missing the point here.” Viktor is mildly taken aback by that opener, but Krista continues without pause. “I’m the least of the people hurt by this. Yes, you disobeyed me, but who is really hurt by that? Yuuri, obviously, but I don’t think you’ve taken into account how your actions have affected the kids. It’s an inconvenience to me not having you here, but those kids are losing out on valuable instruction both by your not being here and by the way your actions have affected Yuuri’s state of mind in addition to the fact that the other two instructors had to pick up the slack from you not showing up yesterday. You should consider yourself lucky that we weren’t yet in the middle of preparation for the recital, because I’d be a lot angrier with you and your actions would have had the potential to do so much more damage than they already have. So tell me, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Viktor feels sick with the realization her words have brought him. He hadn’t even thought of how he might be messing with the kids by doing what he did, and now he is, and now he feels about as worthless as a coupon for Borders. He’s honestly not sure he has anything to say for himself that won’t just sound like shitty excuses from a shitty person trying to use their injury and psychological issues as a get-out-of-jail-free-card.

“I…I don’t know that there is anything I can say to that that won’t come across as me trying to make excuses for my behavior. I obviously was being so self-centered that I didn’t take into account how my foolishness would affect the kids, and now that I’m thinking about it I’m certain that I would not have behaved the way I did had I been thinking of it. There isn’t anything I can say to excuse what I did, and I understand completely if you want me to move to Idaho and never come back here, but I want to be selfish one more time and ask for an opportunity to apologize to the kids before I go about looking for a ranch that will take such a useless employee as myself,” he mumbles, already internally wallowing again in his own feelings of failure.

“Idaho? What are you even talking about? I’m not going to make you move anywhere, Viktor,” Krista shakes his head at him in confusion. “And with regards to you keeping your job here…well, honestly at this point that all hinges on Yuuri. He has to be willing to work with you, because he’s a lot harder to replace than you are, and I don’t _care_ if you used to be the most important dancer on the planet. Yuuri is passionate about his job, about the kids, he’s gentle with the ones that need it all while not being an absolute pushover. He’s a wonderful teacher, and if he’s not willing to work with you then I’m sorry but I _am_ going to keep him over you. I accept your apology to me, and I can tell you feel remorse for having affected the kids negatively, so I’m not so mad anymore. But seriously, I’m going to ask Yuuri how he feels about you staying, and if you do stay I need you to come up with an action plan for what steps you’re going to take to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I need proof that you’re changing, do you understand me?”

Viktor nods, relieved that he probably wasn’t going to have to move to Idaho after all. Still, he has to accept that his fate now rests in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri, who Viktor thinks he might be more than a little in love with, who is very upset with Viktor, who hasn’t responded to any of his messages trying to apologize and explain himself….it’s scarier than Viktor wants to admit. He could try going over to Yuuri and Phichit’s apartment to apologize, of course, but knowing what he knows of Yuuri that will only make him feel even more upset because Viktor isn’t respecting that he wants to be left alone right now. Really the only option that won’t make everything worse is to just wait patiently, but while patience may be a virtue it is not a virtue that has ever been attributed to Viktor Nikiforov. It takes every fiber of his being not to whip his phone out in the middle of Krista’s office, but he manages to wait until he can plausibly excuse himself to the restroom before he calls Phichit, who answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Viktor,” he says. “Yuuri still doesn’t want to talk to you, in case you were wondering.” Viktor hears some strange noise in the background, but dismisses it for now.

“I figured as much Phichit, but I’m not calling right now to try to get you to make him call me back. Look, I wanted to apologize to you as well for lying to you by not telling you who I was sooner. We’re supposed to be friends, and friends shouldn’t lie to each other, even if it _is_ just a lie by omission. I’m realizing that the world doesn’t revolve around me, and while that’s a difficult pill to swallow it’s a lot better to try to say sorry than to be forced to move to Idaho because I was too stubborn and self-centered to fix my mistakes,” Viktor says.

Phichit hums to himself over the line. “Yeah, I’ll admit that after I got over the shock of realizing that I was hanging out with a celebrity I was kinda mad that you hadn’t told the truth from the beginning. But it sounds like you’re doing a good job of trying to fix it, so I accept your apology. But I have a few questions: can I have your autograph? And also, who is going to force you to move to Idaho? How do you even know where Idaho is, anyhow? Is the Russian education system that good about teaching geography?” Viktor cuts him off laughing.

“Yes, you can have an autograph. And, well, I guess _technically_ no one is forcing me to move to Idaho. I was spiraling in anxiety and that’s what my brain came up with as punishment, I think. I don’t know. But now that that thought is in my brain it won’t go away. I’m not even sure where exactly Idaho is, but from what I’ve heard about it there’s not really much there, and for someone like me that sounds like absolute torture,” he chuckles.

“Ah, okay, that makes sense. Yuuri is the same way, he gets a dumb idea in his head when he’s having a bad anxiety day and then when he finally gets so worked up he snaps it kinda sounds like a bunch of nonsense but really it’s this conversation he’s been having with his brain the whole time so it’s only sort of random,” Phichit babbles cheerfully. Viktor can hear the same noise from before, except more clearly now so that it’s obvious that the sound is Yuuri fighting Phichit for the phone. Viktor hears a muffled “stop telling him all that, Phichit, it’s none of his business!” before Phichit hurriedly gets out a “well okay Viktor I guess I’ll talk to you later maybe gotta go BYE!” and the line goes dead. Viktor is, if nothing else, relieved that Phichit doesn’t totally hate him, which gives him a little hope that Yuuri doesn’t either. After all, what kind of best friend are you if you don’t hate all the same people your friend does? He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself however, so he’s trying not to get his hopes up too far.

Viktor walks back towards Krista’s office after he finishes actually using the restroom but he can see that the door is closed and she’s on the phone. He both hopes and doesn’t hope she’s on the phone with Yuuri. On the one hand, it’s terrifying to know that his future here might be being decided right this very moment by someone he knows is upset with him. On the other, the sooner he knows what’s happening the sooner he’ll know what his future holds. He settles for lurking outside her office, trying not to make it super obvious that he’s both nervous and possibly trying to eavesdrop, even though he knows the door is too thick to hear through. He doesn’t have to wait for long, however, before Krista opens the door and he puts on his best “I’m literally the most innocent man you’ve ever seen” face. Her raised eyebrows tell him that she doesn’t buy it for a minute.

“Well, Viktor, I just got done talking with Yuuri. Luckily for you, he says he’s perfectly capable of doing his job and maintaining his professionalism with you here. He did mention that he doesn’t feel good trying to give you a ride here right now, so I guess as long as you can figure that part out for yourself you can stay. However, as your boss, I am going to ask that you keep your contact with him restricted to only what is necessary to do your job. I don’t need you following the poor boy around trying to apologize to him when he’s trying to do his job and doesn’t need your interference. Is that clear?” she asks, looking at him severely enough that he feels like she’s looking down at him even though he’s clearly taller than her.

“Yes, crystal clear,” Viktor responds as meekly as he knows how. It’s going to be hard, because he wants nothing more than to take every opportunity to at least explain himself to Yuuri, but again he knows he needs to leave it well enough alone for now. Maybe give it a week, and see how Yuuri feels then.

At any rate he decides it’s in his best interest to go set up his classroom so that he’s ready when the kids arrive. He’s still not feeling his best after the wear and tear his body has taken in the last two days, so he can take the extra time to set up at his own pace and possibly try to stretch and do his PT exercises to limber up a little.

When the kids do arrive, they’re full of questions as to his whereabouts the day before. He tries to deflect, saying he just wasn’t feeling well, but then his heart almost breaks in two when one of them says “oh, Yuuri wasn’t feeling very good yesterday either. Maybe you got each other sick?” He tries to chuckle it off with a “yes, something like that” but he feels off-kilter for the rest of the lesson. Viktor knows, deep down, that beating himself up over it again and again isn’t going to help anything, but he can’t help but feel like an absolute piece of shit when it’s obvious to even the kids that something is amiss and he knows he’s to blame.

The class passes incredibly fast, with minimal disruptions as he puts the kids through their paces. Maya, Eliza, and Kelsey only burst into giggles once, during barre exercises, which is an improvement over the usual five. As the cool-down stretching swiftly deteriorates into chatter and poke wars, Kelsey approaches Viktor.

“Hey Viktor, since you weren’t here yesterday you missed the grand reveal of the theme for the recital. Don’t you wanna know what it is? Oooh, I know, you should guess!” she says, giving up all pretenses of stretching.

“Hmm…how about this? You keep stretching and I’ll try to guess.” She sticks her tongue out at him, but resumes her stretching. “Is it…movies?” She shakes her head. “Animals? Fruit? Is it based on a fairy tale?” All of which get him more vigorous head shaking. “I give up! What is it?” he finally asks.

“The theme of this upcoming recital is…spring! Because it’s spring, silly!” Maya interrupts, with Kelsey swatting at her and pouting for ruining the surprise. Maya runs off, giggling, and Kelsey, still pouting, turns back to Viktor.

“I was gonna say it, but like, a lot cooler than that. But yeah, Krista told us yesterday what it’s gonna be. Are you excited?” she asks, deciding that there’s no point to stretching more and plopping down on the floor at Viktor’s feet.

“Hmmm…spring, huh? I don’t know what I’ll do with that off the top of my head, but I’m sure I can come up with something super amazing for you guys,” he murmurs to himself, tapping one finger against his mouth in thought. He’s already thinking of simple but great costumes, choreography forming in his mind. Spring, indeed. A time of thaw, a time of rebirth and beauty. It has certainly been a long winter, in all the normal ways as well as a few others. That’s a lot of material to possibly work with. He can’t wait to get home and get started writing things down and maybe sketching things out…

Viktor’s train of thought is carelessly interrupted by Freddie nearly crashing into him after tripping over Kelsey, who barely managed to avoid getting stepped on by the older girl. Their ensuing squabbling and Freddie’s muttering that she doesn’t belong in a class with so many pipsqueaks effectively takes up the remainder of his attention until the students finally file out of the room and Tracey walks in, waiting around for the last of the kids to leave before trying to speak to Viktor.

“So…I put two and two together on my own on about your second day here as to who you are. What I can’t figure out is how Yuuri didn’t find out until whatever the hell happened between y’all two days ago.” She stops for a moment, as if debating what to say next. “I guess you already know by now that you really hurt him. I’m not here to lecture you about that right now,” she says, holding up a hand when Viktor makes as if to interrupt her. “I’m here to ask you to please try to fix it. Yes, I know that Krista has undoubtedly told you to leave him alone. And she’s right about that, for now. He needs time to lick his wounds. No doubt he feels like this is some sort of cruel joke, he’s been hanging out with the man he looks up to most aside from his own father, and he didn’t even recognize him. All while that guy is fully aware that Yuuri is pretty much his #1 fan. He probably thinks you’ve been sitting here laughing your ass off at him, which I don’t think is true based on how you’re acting now. But you gotta know by now, that boy has anxiety and he’s got it _bad_. He needs some time to work through some of that dark stuff in his head before he’s ready to face you again.”

She steps closer, so that she can really look him in the eye. “But here’s the thing. Aside from just how it’s the decent thing to do, apologize and explain yourself to him, I want you to fix this because I really think that you two could be _so_ good for each other. He’d probably curl up in embarrassment and die if he knew I was telling you this, but the fact is his admiration of your career is kinda deeper than that. My boy’s got a big old decade-long crush on you, and while maybe he doesn’t wanna admit it to anyone he’s not so tight-lipped when he’s been drinking, and even if I hadn’t weaseled it out of him that way it’s obvious enough to anyone with eyes the way he acts around you. And if I’m half as observant as I know I am, I think you almost definitely feel the same way about him. And I don’t know how or why you came to be in Detroit, but I can tell you’ve had some pretty messed up stuff going on in your own head. But watching you guys get friendly and dancing around flirting with one another, and this might be me meddling, I think y’all have chemistry. I can’t say anything more without getting myself in trouble, but for both of y’all’s sakes I need you to fix this thing. Give him time, then try to work it out. I promise you won’t regret it,” she says, moving towards the door without giving him an opportunity to respond.

_So now not only is Phichit trying to say that Yuuri has a crush on me, but so is Tracey,_ Viktor thinks to himself. _How come I never got that vibe? And_ can _I fix this? It feels so hard to wait, and it feels like it’s going to be so much harder to do knowing now that maybe he likes me as much as I like him. The stakes are so much higher now, because I have a chance with him but if I don’t play things just right I could lose more than just that, I could lose his friendship, and I’d rather at least be friends even if I can never have more._ He shakes his head, flipping his fringe out of his face. Well, he does have that therapist appointment coming up next week, maybe he can bring it up then after they get all the introductory stuff out of the way. _Great, so you’re going to be talking to your therapist about your Yuuri-Yuri issues. Ha, ha._ He grimaces at himself, and makes his way out of the building at last, only to realize that he still has to call for a taxi to come get him to get home. Even if Yuuri were willing to give him a ride, he’s already left by the time Viktor shakes his head out of the clouds to look around for him.

Later that day, as he lays in his bed surrounded by scraps of paper covered in his doodles of costume ideas and possible choreography and songs for the recital, he resolves on two points. The first thing he needs to do is continue planning for the recital first thing in the morning, as he wants to make it up to the kids the way he was being rather self-centered when his focus should have been on them. The second thing is that he needs to face his demons and figure out how to fix things with Yuuri. And this time, when he tells Yuuri the truth, he deserves the whole truth. Even those ugly, shriveled bits that might make Yuuri run the other way away from Viktor. He has to open himself up to the possibility of being liked for who he is in order to know if he can receive that from anyone.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Viktor honestly can’t believe he’s made it all the way to Tuesday. This has certainly been one of the most difficult weeks of his life so far, and that’s even taking into account the immediate aftermath of his accident. He has seen Yuuri a grand total of two (2!) times since the day everything went to hell, and he hasn’t even had the opportunity to talk to him during either of those times because Yuuri was purposely keeping his eyes on his destination instead of his surroundings. Viktor supposes it’s about what he deserves.

In other news, he went to see his new therapist for the first time on Monday. Dr. Einarsen seems nice enough, and is a vast improvement over Viktor’s prior therapist. Dr. Einarsen smells like cinnamon and something else Viktor can’t identify, but not a bad thing. She’s also not condescending to Viktor when he tries to explain things, which makes him want to open up even more. Though he’s only had one session with her, they did manage to talk a bit about both the Yuuri issue and the Yuri issue, and Viktor’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. She made him feel good about the progress he’s made so far with both his physical therapy and his personal development. She also recommended some things for him to work on in terms of self-care, and developing a system to help him from falling into his old depression habits. She also recommended he try opening up to his friends, starting with Christophe. He’s not so sure that’s where he wants to start, since he really wants to tell Yuuri all this stuff first, but he supposes that all really comes down to whether or not he manages to catch Yuuri as he’s leaving the afterschool center today or not.

Viktor actually lets his group go a few minutes early today in the hopes to buy himself some time to get the jump on Yuuri, which is difficult considering how fast Yuuri moves when he’s avoiding something and how slowly Viktor’s knee is forcing him to go. It’s been a tumultuous week for the weather, and the changing pressure with the changing of the seasons is doing a number on all of Viktor’s joints. He manages to catch up with Yuuri in the parking lot out front as he’s attempting to get into his car.

“Yuuri! Wait! Yuuri, would you please just hold on a second?” he wheezes out, his lungs not appreciating the chill air combined with the effort he was exerting trying to keep up with his anxious target. Yuuri freezes, then slowly turns around to face him.

“What, Viktor? Don’t you think you’ve already done enough? I don’t want to wait around just so you can laugh at how stupid I was all those weeks,” he murmurs, shifting his feet like cornered prey.

“Yuuri, please. I don’t want to make fun of you. I just want to explain myself to you, and apologize. You can decide from there if you want to accept it or if you never want me to speak to you again and you’d rather I move to Idaho than stay here in town,” Viktor pleads. Yuuri still doesn’t look convinced. “Please. Just, I don’t know, let’s go somewhere and let me explain everything. I know I messed up by not telling you who I was from the beginning, but if you’ll just let me tell you how I came to be in Detroit in the first place I’m sure it’ll all make more sense. One more opportunity is all I’m asking for.”

For a moment it seems that Yuuri is at war with himself, but eventually he gives a jerky little half-shrug and gestures for Viktor to get in the car. They drive in silence all the way back to Viktor’s apartment, which wasn’t exactly where Viktor thought they’d end up but he’ll take whatever he can get here. It strikes him as odd that these are the circumstances under which Yuuri is seeing the inside of his apartment for the first time, but he pushes the thought from his mind as he unlocks the door to let them both in. He ushers Makkachin back into the bedroom before gesturing towards the table, offering Yuuri a drink which is declined. He grabs a glass of water for himself and settles across the table from Yuuri.

“Okay, you want to explain. So, explain. Why are you in Detroit?” Yuuri says gruffly. Viktor pushes his hair back from his face before beginning.

“So, quite a few months ago I was on a short US tour with the Mariinsky Ballet, we had been performing a production of Don Quijote, and we had a rest day. I don’t doubt you know quite a bit about the show itself, so I won’t go too far into all of that. As I’m sure you also know, I’ve been with the Mariinsky for a while, most of my career really. While things could certainly be cutthroat, and there was a certain amount of in-fighting over parts and dressing rooms and other such trivial things, I still thought of those people as my family. For all that they were some of the most dramatic and vicious people I have ever met, they were among the most talented dancers in the world of ballet, and I cherished my spot among them. A couple of years ago, I decided in a fit of self-importance coupled with the realization of my own mortality that I should take on a protégé, the closest thing to having a child of my own that I ever planned on having. There were any number of promising candidates in the youths involved in our productions, and most of them would have cheerfully shoved the others off the stage for the opportunity to be so close to me and receiving my favor. Naturally, with my own contrary nature, I picked the most antagonistic and disagreeable teenage boy of the lot. His name is Yuri Plisetsky.

“He didn’t really require any convincing; for all that he is and always has been a difficult child, he was never an imbecile, and so he became my protégé. He knew what my influence could potentially do for his career, and so even though I’m sure he found me constantly irritating and overly dramatic and even frivolous at times he put up with my whims. Don’t get me wrong, I did actually teach him some very important lessons, but I definitely did take advantage of my position to make him do some rather silly things for me sometimes, or just hang out with me whenever the spotlight became too lonely. Having him relatively close was safer than trying to open up and let my peers or rivals in, as they would certainly expose and exploit any weakness of mine for their own personal gain and I knew that. Yuri became to me something like a child and a brother all in one, and there were days where I think I convinced myself that he didn’t absolutely hate it.

“So, as I said, we had a rest day, and he and I were out trying to see if there were any sights worth seeing in Detroit. I’d had a bit of wine with my lunch, so I didn’t want to drive the car I’d rented for the day back to the hotel myself. I knew that he’d been practicing in Russia, driving in the more rural area near where I think his grandfather lives, even though the driving age in Russia is 18 and he was only about 15 or 16 at that point. I figured, well, the driving age in America is lower than it is in Russia, and the hotel is only about 5 blocks from where we are right now, and you’ve been driving your grandfather’s vehicle for a few months now that I know of and haven’t hit anything or hurt yourself, so what’s the harm? Better you drive sober albeit underage than I drive after drinking, I believe I said to him. He was excited for the opportunity for that bit of freedom and the opportunity to prove himself to me, his mentor, someone he at least a little bit looked up to.

“It wasn’t even really his fault, what happened. He was following the laws to the letter, aside from driving without a license, it was the other driver who didn’t stop. We were going down a hill, coming to a stop because the light was red, but the car behind us didn’t stop. They rammed us full-force from behind, pushing us into the oncoming traffic. The cars coming from the left managed to slam on their brakes fast enough to not hit us, but coming from the right we got positively slammed on the front passenger side by a moving truck coming full speed off the freeway, and the car was spun wildly across the street until slamming the passenger side into a tree. Yuri managed to make it out of the whole affair with just whiplash and a few lacerations to the face. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky, having been on the side that got hit by both the truck and the tree.

“I honestly don’t remember very much about the whole thing, and what I do remember is very fractured and disjointed. I remember everything feeling like it was spinning still, and how much my head hurt. I remember my knee hurting so much that even as I tried to scream, no sound would come out. I had various other aches and pains, but none of those were quite as strong as the pain in my knee. I remember seeing all the blood on the dashboard and the broken windshield glass everywhere and laughing a little to myself, thinking how fake it all looked, like something from an advertisement about not drinking and driving or a movie. I vaguely remember a voice telling me to try to stay calm, that they’d have me pried out in no time. I remember someone crying, I think it might have been Yuri, but it might have been me or someone else entirely, I don’t remember clearly enough.

“Eventually they did get me out of the wreckage of the vehicle, and into an ambulance. Everything after that is quite fuzzy, aside from the repeated refrains of ‘how lucky you are to be alive’. I honestly think I could have stayed that fuzzy for forever had they not told me the horrible news on the third day, after I’d had surgery to fix I don’t even know what and my knee still hurt, so very badly. I think I asked someone what was the matter with it, and when I could get back to my dancing, and even now I remember the pitying look I got from the nurse, the way she said ‘I think I’d better go get a doctor to explain this to you, Mr. Nikiforov’. She got the doctor because she was too much a coward to tell me to my face that though I was alive my life was over. She made him tell me that I’d fractured my kneecap and would be lucky to achieve a normal gait after all this, forget about dancing on the world’s stage. After that, I think I ceased to be for a few days, until I was discharged from the hospital and my agent Yakov came to get me and bring me back to his hotel.

“It was then that I found out that the rest of the troupe had already gone back to Russia, and that my incompetent understudy Jean-Jacques had been allowed to perform the last of my performances in my stead. It was decided by someone, I don’t know who, that it would be best that they head back as soon as possible and with as little fanfare as possible over my accident. Even Yuri was gone without me, he didn’t even bother with a goodbye. As the weeks went by I found that what was essentially my severance package from the troupe was funds to pay for an apartment for me here indefinitely, as I was in no real condition to fly back to Russia at the time, and besides what would have been the point? I couldn’t dance anymore, so what use was I to them? I had no real experience choreographing for others, only myself, and even so all those positions were filled. I found out the hard way exactly how fleeting fame is, and how easily forgotten you are when you’re no longer useful to others, when you can no longer enthrall the crowds and perform like the dancing elephants at the circus. And so I was moved into this apartment. I went through the motions of picking furnishings for it, and they had my darling dog Makkachin flown out to be with me in this exile, one small mercy in my abandonment.

“And so things remained for many weeks. My few friends and some especially ardent admirers did their best to stay in touch, but at that point I honestly wanted to be left alone. I became quite good at putting up a front that had everyone but my agent convinced that I was recovering just fine, and didn’t need additional help or attention. I know that was stupid, but I had kind of convinced myself that if any of them really cared about me they’d be able to tell the difference, and if they didn’t I obviously didn’t need help from them. My agent, however, knew I wasn’t behaving normally, because he had for some reason stuck around to drag me to my various appointments. I suppose that for better or worse, Yakov has become like a father to me over the years, and was entirely too involved in my personal affairs. He was _not_ pleased with me when I stopped going to my physical therapy sessions, and he was even less pleased when I declined to go to my shrink. But after a while, he had other more pressing obligations back in Russia and so he wasn’t able to force me to do things anymore. He would still call me up and yell at me, but it was easy enough to just…not answer the phone, or remain silent during his rants.

“I spent weeks here in this apartment, leaving only for long enough to walk Makkachin and buy groceries. The wintry weather outside matched my inner state, and I was afraid of spending too long outside because the sidewalks were icy and while I didn’t want to be alive I also didn’t want to die like that, slipping off the sidewalk because of my ruined knee and ending up getting run over by the moving truck that tried to end me in the first place, returned from hell to finish the job. I was, at my worst, spending my entire day either in bed or on the couch eating kale chips and re-watching videos of my old performances, losing all track of time and often forgoing showers for up to two weeks at a time. I had had the thing that made me important, that made me who I _was_ , taken away from me by some jackass who was too busy texting his girlfriend to notice the light was red and we were slowing down. I was so angry, and lashing out at everyone, and miserable. My body was unhappy because to go from having a very rigorous training and performing schedule to severe injury and then atrophy was unpleasant, and I have no doubt that that was contributing to my mood as well.

“And so you have it: that is who I was when I met you. I had just fought with Yakov over dinner, and he sicced Christophe on me, and so he fluttered back into my life again to drag me out of my apartment and to the performance where we met. I was putting on a show of being relatively normal and having a good time, but I essentially felt worthless and pointless and worn down. I certainly didn’t have the energy or the desire to actively end it all, but I certainly wouldn’t have minded if an asteroid fell from the sky and squashed me flat. I didn’t have a purpose, I didn’t have any family or friends who I knew certainly wouldn’t drop me when they finally realized how worthless I truly was. I may as well have been dead.

“But then I met you and Phichit at the show that night, and it was a _relief_ not to be recognized. Because then I knew that the spark I felt between us, the connection that was there was real and not just someone trying to cozy up to me for my money or my stardom. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you for so long, I swear I didn’t, but then the more time went by the more attached I was to you, to both of you, and the harder it was going to be for me to risk telling you the truth and making you upset with me. I was constantly fighting with myself over whether or not to tell you, but then something would make it so easy for me to put it off another day. And yes, the guilt was eating me alive because the more time went by the more I cared about you and wanted not to hurt you, and wanted to be worthy of your friendship. I started going to physical therapy regularly, and it’s thanks to you that I got started working at the afterschool center and being social again. I’ll admit that yes, I did start working there because I wanted to get closer to you. But then it also started giving me a reason to get out of bed every day, something healthy to look forward to.

“I recognize that none of this is really an excuse for lying to you, for taking advantage of you to fill my own personal needs. But still I want to say I’m sorry for not telling you who I was straight off the bat. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel foolish, because that was never my intent, and I understand if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me. You are the most important person in my life right now, Yuuri, and so I’m putting this decision in your hands: if you want to be friends, I will accept that. If you want me to disappear, I’ll do my best to make that happen. But I’ll be honest: I care about you more deeply than I have ever cared about anyone. I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you out on a date when everything went to shit. I’m not telling you that because I want to guilt you into anything, but also I just can’t keep that from you anymore, in the interest of full transparency.

Viktor sits back in his chair, trying to find the courage to look up at Yuuri, but ultimately failing and looking down at the table. He knows it’s a lot, what he just dumped on Yuuri. It’s been a weight that he’s been carrying for weeks now, and while he doesn’t feel fully “liberated” per se, he does feel a lot lighter. It’s just hard now because he has laid himself completely bare, something that goes against his nature, and now it is up to Yuuri to respond, and he can’t rush that. They sit there in near-silence for what feels like an hour, Yuuri tapping his fingers on the table and Viktor nervously sipping at his water.

“So…you like me? That way? And you’re not just messing with me?” Yuuri asks.

“That’s what you got out of all that?” Viktor asks, incredulously. He laughs, when Yuuri’s cheeks flush.

“I mean, I’m still processing everything. But that was the easiest thing to handle, so…” he mumbles, rubbing at his forearm with his other hand.

“Yes. Yes, Yuuri, I like you. I’ve been falling for you since I met you, slowly but surely. You’re quiet but fiercely intelligent and caring, I love watching how you are with the kids at the center, I love watching how you open up and deciding what you share and what you keep close. You’re still pretty mysterious, but I could happily spend the rest of my days uncovering more and more of that mystery. And you make me want to be a better person, as if you couldn’t tell. I used to be so self-centered, and while I’m far from perfect even now, I can tell I’ve made improvements,” he says, finally making eye contact with Yuuri.

“So, I guess the cat’s kind of out of the bag, but…I’ve kind of been interested in you for a while. And while I’m not trying to say that this makes everything okay, I am coming to understand a lot more about you now. And I think I forgive you. It’s gonna take a little bit for everything to be okay again, but I think it will. And once it is, I think I want to try this…whatever it is, with you,” Yuuri says, finally allowing his hands to rest on the table.

“Well…now that we’ve sorted all that out…do you have any questions you wanted to ask about the rest of all that? I want you to know also that I’ve started seeing a therapist to help me work through the worst of it. I’ve only gone once, but I think I like this lady and I think it’s going to be really beneficial to me to have a professional to talk things through with,” Viktor says, finally relaxing into his chair.

“No, I think for now I’m going to get home. I still need time to process things and all, and it’s been a long day for me. I…do you want me to come pick you up for work tomorrow? Or would you rather do whatever it is you’ve been doing to get there? I don’t want to assume anything one way or the other but I just thought…” Yuuri trails off, his nerves showing through again in that way that Viktor finds oh so endearing.

“I’d like that a lot, actually. I’ve been spending quite a bit of money on taxis,” Viktor jokes.

Yuuri gathers himself after a little more chatting and Viktor walks him back out to his car. They say goodbye with a hug, and Viktor watches happily as that ugly-as-sin teal Toyota drives away from his sight. When he goes to sleep that night, he’s full of optimism, real, honest optimism, for what seems like the first time in forever.


	13. Epilogue

Two Months Later

“All right everyone, places, places! The show’s starting in thirty seconds!” Krista calls out from the wings. Viktor, Yuuri, and Tracey all look on from where they’re making their final adjustments to costumes and trying to calm down nervous students. Freddie, shockingly, is the one having the biggest meltdown, for all that she likes to talk big about literally everything. Viktor can’t help but chuckle to himself at the irony.

The recital that they’ve all been working towards for the last couple months is finally coming to fruition. He personally feels confident that his students are more than prepared to do what he’s taught them, even with nerves being high. They’ve turned the gym of the afterschool center into a makeshift auditorium for the evening, with a stage provided by several of the dads who work in construction, and the audience full of everyone’s families. Viktor knows that Phichit is also out there in the audience somewhere, to support both Viktor and Yuuri in their work.

He, Yuuri and Tracey walk out in front of the curtain on the stage to introduce the theme of the recital: spring. He honestly couldn’t think of anything more fitting if he had personally tried his hardest, he doesn’t think. While Krista introduces the instructors, he takes a few moments to reflect. This season has been full of thawing, of beauty and rebirth, of newness and of life, both in the environment around him (yes, even in Detroit there can be flowers and beauty) and in his own life.

They each say their piece on what their students have accomplished in the last weeks, and with the audience enjoyment before getting off the stage to let the people see what they came to see: their kids. The recital has each class performing 2 pieces, with 6 solo performances and then one last big collaborative piece between all age groups to finish the show. Viktor is especially proud of his costume idea for his students: something relatively simple that he got the art class at the afterschool center involved in, consisting of an all-black outfit with flower crowns woven by Viktor and the art students. His class are supposed to represent forest fairies, coordinating with the other two classes who are flowers (Yuuri’s class) and elemental gods and goddesses with a few trees thrown in for good measure (Tracey’s class). All of the costumes are pretty simple, for the sake of cost-effectiveness, but still flexible and pretty.

The show manages to go nearly perfectly, which is more than anyone had really hoped for. A couple of the kindergarteners in Yuuri’s class do crash into each other at one point, and Freddie almost has an anxiety attack right before her solo, but aside from that all the students managed to keep level heads and remember their choreography. When the last notes ring out from the piano, and the story of spring has been told, it is so very gratifying to Viktor to see how proud of their children all these parents are as the crowd goes positively nuts applauding and cheering. It’s certainly more raucous than he’s used to in his own performances, but it feels much warmer for it.

It’s not until after he and the other instructors have gone up for their round of applause and been presented with bouquets of paper flowers made by the students themselves that he sees the surprise that’s waiting for him. He knew that Phichit and Yuuri had been super secretive about things for about a month now, but he hadn’t let himself think too much about it until now. As he walks off the stage he sees a group of people gathered in the wings that he hasn’t seen all in one place for years.

“Vitya! So good to see you looking lively! And wow, what an amazing show!” Christophe says, pulling Viktor into a surprised hug. Christophe is somehow here in Detroit, yet again, but this time with all Viktor’s old friends from the Mariinsky who he’d assumed had forgotten him, Yakov, and even Yuri Plisetsky is here, awkwardly standing at the back of the crowd. Viktor is stunned, feeling about thirty different things all at once, and once Christophe lets go of him he turns to find Yuuri and Phichit looking quite pleased with themselves behind him.

“Did you two…how did you…what?” he babbles, whipping his head back and forth incredulously. Yuuri steps closer and wraps his arm around Viktor’s shoulders.

“We knew you hadn’t seen them in a while, and well Phichit has stayed in contact with Christophe, so it was mostly him who did the calling and convincing. But I thought it would be nice for you to have them see what you’ve been doing, and that you’re doing much better now than you were last time you saw them all,” Yuuri says, smiling at him.

Viktor has in fact changed more than just a little bit since the last time he saw all of these people, even Christophe, but he never in a million years expected that Yuuri would get Phichit and Christophe involved in getting all his friends to come see his first ever recital as an instructor. But then again, he has a lot to be proud of. He’s regained a lot of mobility since his accident, and his mental health is miles better than it was back in winter. He’s made great strides at forgiving not just himself, but also Yuri.

Yes, even though the accident wasn’t Yuri’s fault, he knew that he had been holding a lot of resentment towards the kid for a) making it out relatively unscathed and b) abandoning Viktor to his injuries in the moment when he most needed someone there to assure him that they’d still care about him, even after he was no longer on top of the world. Viktor has been talking it through with his therapist and had in fact called Yuri about two weeks ago, beginning the work of repairing their relationship. Even though he was no longer really living in the same world as Yuri, Yuri was still very important to him, and apparently Viktor was a lot more important to Yuri than Yuri would willingly admit.

Viktor goes around hugging all of his guests, most of whom tell him how good he looks (he supposes some ego-stroking habits from the old days may never die among this crowd) and how happy they are that he seems so happy. Even Yuri grudgingly comments that Viktor looks happier than he’s ever seen him. And Viktor can only continue smiling that huge smile of his, because he knows it’s true. Eventually someone suggests that they move on from there to a restaurant downtown to celebrate Viktor’s accomplishments, and people begin to head out to either go directly to the restaurant or back to their hotels to change clothes first. Yuuri and Viktor hang back, making sure that Krista doesn’t need anything else from them that evening and talking with some of the straggling families outside.

As they finally make their way to the car and buckle up their seatbelts, Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand and leans in for a kiss. Because, oh yes, that’s another thing that’s changed in the last two months: he can do that now pretty much any time he wants. Yuuri did take a couple of weeks to process and fully forgive Viktor for not telling him the truth, but ultimately he did and so the pair of them have been dating for about a month and a half now.

All in all, Viktor’s life is going way better than he ever thought it could a few months ago. He’s got an adorable and loving boyfriend, he’s got a meaningful job that he loves, and apparently he has a lot more friends than he originally thought he had. _And_ , he thinks to himself as they drive off towards the restaurant, _I didn’t have to move to Idaho after all_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you have it folks! A few minor notes:  
> 1) I haven't figured out how to link the art that accompanies this fic but trust when I say it is the bomb-dot-com  
> 2) This is still in the editing process, and errors will be fixed in the coming weeks (my beta is trapped in midterm hell)  
> 3) There will (almost definitely) be a sexy one-shot to go with this story, set further into the future than this. I didn't want to shoehorn in a sex scene that didn't feel natural, and my boys were definitely not there yet when I finished this piece.  
> 4) Thanks so much for reading!


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